


I have lost my pain

by thrace



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 93,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5998897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrace/pseuds/thrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin has a perfect life: perfect job, perfect girlfriend, perfect friends and family.</p><p>Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "I wept because I could not believe anymore and I love to believe. I can still love passionately without believing. That means I love humanly. I wept because I have lost my pain and I am not yet accustomed to its absence." - Anaïs Nin

Clarke wakes up feeling disoriented. It takes her a moment to place herself - her bedroom, her apartment. It's dark, still not quite dawn. 

Her heart is thudding dully in her ears and a half-remembered dream echoes through her memories. Something terrifying - a struggle, a fight, screaming. Something that leaves her disquieted even as her heart rate slowly tapers off. 

She turns a few times, trying to get comfortable. A quick flip of her pillow to the cool side helps lull her deeper, even though something of her nightmare lingers. 

Next to her, Lexa shifts minutely and lets out a sleepy little sigh with her eyes still closed.

"Sorry," Clarke whispers, stroking Lexa's arm once to soothe her. "Go back to sleep."

Lexa goes still again, her breathing evening out. Clarke listens to the rhythm of her and once again stillness settles over her. She's asleep before she knows it.

*

She's forgotten about her nightmare by the time she wakes up. She feels rested, if not exactly in a good mood. She's not a morning person and it doesn't help having a partner who is borderline chipper at daybreak. 

Not that Lexa could ever properly be described as chipper, but she's usually gone for a run, showered, and brewed a pot of coffee by the time Clarke drags herself out of bed and shuffles into the kitchen, still pre-verbal and responding to Lexa's affectionate brush of a hand along her hip with a grunt.

They'll eat breakfast - some kind of lumberjack platter for Lexa who somehow manages to metabolize it all and a bowl of fruit for Clarke who gets unsettled by too much food too early - and then Lexa will leave for work and Clarke will shower and head to her studio.

Her studio is about a mile away, in a slightly worn-down part of the city, where blocks of warehouses have been repurposed and partitioned as artist spaces. There are painters, sculptors, musicians, a few kilns, some metalworkers - it's a thriving community.

She takes the stairs up to her studio on the second level, keys jangling, looking forward to another day. The place smells of paint and canvas with a cool undertone of chemicals and she can hear the faint call of seagulls blending with bells on the waterfront. When she opens the windows and the wind is blowing right, she can catch the smoke smell from the forge a few buildings down.

She sits cross-legged in front of a large blank canvas, trying to remember if she dreamed the night before. She needs to start keeping a journal; she rarely remembers her dreams. 

She sketches for a while, prowls around some half-finished works, and continues to stare at her empty canvas until she can see the sun hanging low through the studio's central picture window. Nothing today, then. She tidies a bit, locks up, and walks home, feeling slightly glum over her lack of productivity. A quick detour on the way takes her through the farmers market, where she picks up some greens and the cheese Lexa likes, and at least the thought of dinner is enough to cheer her a little. 

She's home first, as usual. Lexa's job in the city parks department is not especially taxing, but she enjoys doing it and doing it well, and usually stays a little longer at the office than the rest of her coworkers. 

Dinner is simple, just the greens and baked chicken with rolls from the bakery down the street, and she manages to time the cooking just right so that Lexa is walking through the door and toeing off her boots as Clarke pulls out the dishes.

"Smells good," Lexa tells her, bussing her cheek with a brief kiss. She disappears into the office to drop off her satchel and deposit her communicator to charge, and then she joins Clarke at the kitchen table, helping her to set out the utensils and glasses. 

And so they eat dinner, trading stories about their day, and enjoy a few easy hours relaxing before bed - Lexa reads and Clarke listens to music hoping for inspiration, head resting in Lexa's lap, Lexa's hand idly combing through her hair.

They cuddle for a while in bed, kissing lazily, fingertips tracing little patterns under the hems of their shirts. Clarke grows sleepy with Lexa's hand rubbing circles at the small of her back. 

Sleep comes easily.

*

The next day is much like the one before it. Clarke can't seem to overcome whatever it is holding back her painting; she's blank, dry, listless. She can feel loved and warm and happy at home, but in her studio none of it translates.

One day out of sheer frustration she just starts painting. No plan, no destination. She lets instinct guide her, choosing a brush at random, picking out the first paint within reach, hitting the primed canvas with something animalistic snarling inside her. 

What starts to take form is a dark slash of impressionistic shapes surrounding an off-center figure - almost clawing at it. She doesn't stop until nearly the entire canvas is smothered, blacks and browns and oxblood, sharp and angry.

Clarke tilts her head, backing up to get a fuller perspective. It's a sore contrast to the other works in the studio, most of which are calming and soft, worked out almost delicately in lighter palates. This is all heavy strokes, thick and oily, drowning in shadows - 

The shadows are gone from the floor. It's dark outside. She doesn't know how she missed losing the light but she did. She looks at her watch and nearly groans out loud; Lexa will be in bed by now.

She pauses just long enough to clean her brushes and then rushes home, bustling through the glowing streetlights until she reaches her building.

The apartment is darkened, though there's still a pot on the stove and a note on the dry erase board on the fridge that the rest of the leftovers are on the top shelf. Clarke doesn't bother; she just creeps into the bedroom, hoping not to wake Lexa but knowing that it's inevitable. Lexa has always been a light sleeper, so in tune with Clarke's body in proximity to hers. 

Clarke changes into her t-shirt and shorts in the bathroom, hurries through her nightly routine, and climbs in next to Lexa, who still smells faintly of the herbs she must have used when cooking dinner.

Lexa immediately wiggles closer to her, pressing their bodies together warmly. "Good day?" she murmurs, hand finding its way to Clarke's hip and squeezing. 

"Productive," Clarke says, still unsure about her painting and what it might mean. 

"That's good." Lexa sighs one of her sleepy sighs, a low hum that Clarke has always thought was disgustingly cute at the same time that it relaxes her onto the brink of sleepiness herself.

"How was your day?" Clarke whispers.

"Mmm." Lexa's eyes are fluttering, wanting to shut for good. "Busy."

Clarke lets her drift. Time enough to talk in the morning. 

*

She startles herself into wakefulness, this time breathing so hard she's nearly panting. Her mouth is dry from it and she can feel tears pricking at her eyes. She's afraid, but she doesn't know of what or why.

Next to her Lexa is wide awake. "Clarke," she says. Her hand is already soothing along Clarke's arm, massaging at her wrist. "You were having a nightmare."

Clarke tries to slow down everything - her heart, her breathing, jumbled images and feelings cascading one over the other as she tries to hold on to the dream. 

Lexa nudges her gently until she rolls over and feels an arm circle her waist, hand stroking her stomach. Something twists inside of her, a deep and innate sense of _wrongness_. The hair on the back of her neck nearly stands on end as she realizes as much as her body wants to calm down, it's also reacting viscerally to someone who should make her feel safe. 

"I just need some water," Clarke says. She slips free of Lexa's embrace, already glad for cool air on her bare skin, and pads into the dark kitchen where she fills a glass under the faucet. 

She tilts the glass a few times in her hand, suddenly caught by the very shape of it, the faint glint from the minimal light filtering in through the living room curtains. Clean running water is such a luxury, something you don't think about until you don't have it anymore. 

She frowns at the thought. There's no reason to act like running water is a luxury. She lives in a modern city. The water quality here is excellent, clean and clear, with a faint mineral tang.

There's something elusive, some last remnant of her dream that wants to be remembered but is stuck hovering on the edge of her subconscious. 

The sound of someone else walking into the kitchen pulls her away from the glass, and the elusive memory evaporates like smoke. 

"You okay?" Lexa asks. She slides her arms around Clarke's waist and rests her chin on her shoulder, nose just under her ear. She rocks Clarke a few times, just a gentle swaying motion.

"Yeah." Clarke finishes her water and Lexa drops a kiss at the base of her neck, right above the collar of her shirt. They get back into bed and Lexa holds her and she feels safe again, unsure why she ever got up in the first place.


	2. Chapter 2

"Your parents want to have dinner with us," Lexa says that Friday. 

Clarke is absorbed in her sketchbook and doesn't quite catch the comment all the way. "Uh-huh," she says, graphite flowing easily. When she's like this it's almost as if she's just revealing what was waiting for her on the page and she tends to zone in on her work to the exclusion of everything else.

"I said we'd bring some wine."

"Sure."

"I told her we're getting married."

"Great." Clarke double takes and finally relaxes her pencil. "What? We're not getting married. What?"

Lexa laughs at her. "Of course not. Dinner with your parents this weekend?"

Clarke flicks through her mental schedule. "Yes. Sunday?"

"Mm-hm," Lexa says, already thumbing something into her communicator. 

"Why is she texting you and not me?" Clarke asks, moving over on the sofa and angling her head trying to get a look at the screen.

"You know she likes me better," Lexa says, holding the communicator away while she finishes her message.

"She does not!" Clarke is snatching for the device now, but Lexa holds her off with one arm because for all that she's a spindly colt of a woman, she's also freakishly strong.

"Maybe you should answer your phone when she messages you, then. Someone was too busy in her studio," Lexa says primly, message sent. 

Clarke groans, head tilting over the back of the sofa. "Oh no."

Lexa kisses her on the cheek, a small consolation that marginally takes some of the tension out of Clarke's neck. "She understands. You are a very serious artist and you were in the middle of the creative process."

"Well when you put it like that," Clarke grumbles, but leans into Lexa's side anyway, sketchpad abandoned on the coffee table. It's actually quite a relief to her that her parents get along so well with Lexa, who doesn't always take to new people without extreme prodding. Her mother can also be suspicious of newcomers, especially those who attempt to date her daughter, and several past suitors have been found wanting. Severely wanting.

Lexa drapes an arm around Clarke's shoulder, letting Clarke play idly with her fingertips, and they remain that way until they both start to get sleepy. Clarke grumbles when Lexa pulls them both upright; if she had her way they would just sleep on the couch and deal with the backache in the morning, but Lexa has them both wash up and change and get between the soft, cool sheets. 

Clarke is just awake enough to kiss back when Lexa draws close and they fall asleep so close that they're sharing a pillow. 

*

She dreams disjointed, in flashes, skipping back and forth between images and feelings. Underneath everything is a current of real fear, the kind of desperate, life-or-death fear that sends adrenaline crashing through every limb until she-

-wakes up and this time she does cry, tears spilling of their own accord before she can even comprehend why. 

Lexa is awake an instant later, hitting her bedside lamp, whispering little sounds of comfort, waiting for the tears to calm down, then handing Clarke a handful of tissues. 

Clarke takes a very clogged up breath through her mouth and tries to relax her body, aware that she's interrupted yet another night of sleep for them both. 

"I'll get you some water," Lexa says. She returns with a cold glass and rubs Clarke's back while she sits up and sips enough to prevent a headache from all the crying. She waits until Clarke looks ready to settle once more, then lies down facing her, turning off the light and pulling the sheets up around their shoulders. "Do you want to tell me what your nightmare was about?" she asks.

Clarke tries to pull on the threads of the dream, hoping for something solid, but she's left only with a sense of unease. She thinks long enough for her eyes to adjust to the dark again, and when she flits a glance at Lexa, she can see how worried she is. "I don't know," she admits. "Maybe it's work."

Which is extremely unlikely, and they both know it. Clarke's work has always been a source of joy for her, and rarely one of anxiety. Fear - never. She feels safe in her work, safe in her life. She doesn't get nightmares.

"I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning," says Lexa, but she sounds as uncertain as Clarke feels.

*

It's hard to remain fearful in the daylight. The weather has been perfect this spring, light snow melting off to give way to flowers and trees budding in their carefully cultivated parks and planters. 

Clarke knows that Lexa is especially proud of the parks; she seems them as open spaces for the people and is constantly tweaking them to "improve community engagement." Clarke has helped draft a few presentations for the city council, using watercolors to paint in lush greenery and bright flowers and rippling ponds. Lexa has saved and framed all of them. 

One of Lexa's parks is on the way to Clarke's parents so they cut through it to get to dinner instead of taking the city tram. Her parents are a couple of miles away, a nice walk when the weather is pleasant, and today it's particularly exceptional. It feels warm in direct sunlight, but not too hot, and the occasional breeze carries off the worst of the heat whenever Clarke feels she might start to flush. 

They walk hand-in-hand around the edges of a large pond, watching children feed the ducks and laugh when the occasional fish darts up to the surface to steal a crumb. Clarke can see how Lexa's eyes crinkle at the children, her mouth twitching into a little smile. She keeps her thoughts about that to herself; it's too soon for them to have that talk. Nevertheless she finds herself squeezing Lexa's hand a little more firmly, letting herself sink into the moment and enjoy it.

In the elevator Lexa presses a last kiss onto the back of Clarke's hand. She's never been one for public affection, especially not in front of Clarke's parents, even though she gets along well with both of them. It's become her little ritual to give Clarke a last kiss before she reverts to the propriety that seems to settle naturally on her when she wants to be more formal.

Then they're getting off on the top floor and knocking on the door, Lexa hefting the wine bottle in her hands. 

Jake answers and immediately draws Clarke into a hug, shortly followed by Lexa. "Abby, they're here," he calls out with a girl under each arm, and she emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

Abby hugs them both, makes the appropriate exclamations over the wine (Lexa hadn't been above getting a slightly too expensive bottle), and leads them into the kitchen where she already has a plate of appetizers out. Lexa smirks at Clarke when they see the little puff pastries, Lexa's favorite, and Clarke pokes her hard when Abby isn't looking. 

Conversation is easy - there's always something to talk about with Jake and Lexa both working for the city, and Abby running the central hospital and Clarke in the middle of some project or the other. Jake and Lexa are both avid fans of the city's soccer league and eventually have to remove themselves to the living room to have a spirited discussion about the last game. Clarke entangles their fingers for a moment before Lexa leaves, even though she'll just be a room over.

Abby smiles at Clarke over the rim of her wine glass. "You two are doing well."

Clarke goes a bit reticent, choosing another pastry to eat instead of answering.

"How long have you been together now?"

She knows exactly what her mom is hinting at; she's been doing it since their two-year anniversary. Clarke focuses on chewing her food, narrowing her eyes at her mother.

Abby narrows her eyes right back, albeit in good humor. "All right. But your father and I aren't getting any younger."

Clarke throws a large crumb at her and leaves to find Lexa, who is watching Jake gesture emphatically at a tablet showing replays of a game. "Help," she mutters into Lexa's ear, hovering close.

Lexa slips her a sympathetic glance; at least she's been spared the future talk, solely by dint of not being Abby's daughter. For now. 

Abby is close on Clarke's heels and shoots her daughter a sly grin that says she knows exactly what Clarke is doing, but is willing to let her get away with it. 

Lexa doesn't question the hovering all night, just lets her hand rest lightly on the small of Clarke's back when she practically tucks herself into Lexa's side and changes the subject whenever she feels Clarke tense in the slightest. Clarke doesn't really need her to do it but she appreciates the effort all the same and as soon as they're in the elevator, backs her into the wall and plants a long, loving kiss on her. 

"What was that for?" Lexa asks, arms automatically going to their spot around Clarke's waist.

"Nothing. For being you." Clarke kisses her again, lighter, more playful, but laden with promise. The walk home is very, very fast.

*

Her body worn out from Lexa's unwavering attention in bed, she sleeps heavier than usual. 

This time when she dreams, she struggles to come out of it, too exhausted to wake properly. She's trapped under something that she pushes up, pushes pushes pushes, but her arms won't function. Her muscles feel slack no matter how hard she tries. Her body refuses all commands. 

There's something holding on to her and she fights even harder, but the nothing grips her back with twice the strength and she panics hard, panics right into consciousness with Lexa gently shaking her and murmuring her name. Her eyes whirl, trying to take in her surroundings, trying to reconcile the harsh darkness with the soft yellow glow of their bedroom. 

As soon as she realizes she's awake, she shudders out a breath and buries her face in the crook of Lexa's neck. Lexa instinctively understands what Clarke needs from her and rearranges them both so that she can pull Clarke across her body. Clarke wraps her arm around Lexa's waist and listens to her heart, the thudding realness of it, and lets it tether her in the present.

They're both tired in the morning, though Lexa hides it better than Clarke. Even though she wakes up when Clarke wakes up, at least she isn't the one having the nightmares. Silently, she places an enormous mug of coffee in front of Clarke, fixed up with plenty of milk and sugar. 

Clarke knows she skipped her run this morning; there was no sports bra on top of the laundry basket. She feels a little guilty, knowing how important Lexa's routine is to her, and she tries to convey it with a soft kiss at the door. She hooks a few curls over Lexa's ear and deposits another kiss there for good measure. 

"I'll bring you lunch," she says, and Lexa smiles at her, kissing her back just long enough for Clarke to consider making her late for work. In the end, Lexa leaves on time, but not without her hair disheveled and her shirt nearly coming out of its tuck. She feigns disapproval but Clarke can see the way her shoulders have relaxed and her eyes aren't quite so tight. 

She blasts music while she showers and enjoys the feeling of being clean, liking the way it makes her feel like she's crossed some boundary and left behind the night before. Once at her studio, she moves all the dark paintings into the storage area and preps a fresh canvas, determined to get her subconscious under control.

She purposefully chooses greens and blues, some earthy tans, a sliver of golden yellow, all the colors that remind her of Lexa. But it isn't quite right anymore. Something inside of her, something about the image of Lexa that she holds within herself, has been knocked out of alignment. The colors don't _fit_ anymore, not in the easy, simple way they used to flow. Her hands itch to mix in black and ochre and rust and she's glad to knock off for lunch.

She goes a little out of her way to the creperie that Lexa likes but they never really get a chance to eat at because it's off the path between their offices and their apartment. Two savory spinach crepes in hand, she makes her way to the city center, where the government building resides.

Lexa's office is away from the central hub reserved for high-level officials, but it's also much nicer - less angular and shiny, more lived in and comfortable with lots of warm wood furniture. There's a small green space enclosed by the building that Lexa personally designed and cultivated and that's where they meet for lunch. 

Lexa keeps her greeting kiss light and short since she's at work, but there's no mistaking the happiness in her eyes to be sharing a moment with Clarke that they don't normally spend together. They sit under a flowering foxglove tree, the centerpiece of the garden, and Lexa deigns to let Clarke tuck a few blossoms behind her ear while they eat. She might take them out when she goes back to work, but Clarke has seen her discreetly pressing other flowers in a notebook she keeps in her desk drawer.

The pale purple is lovely against her darker hair, but once again to Clarke's discerning eye, the color doesn't quite seem to match. It's hard to worry about Lexa's color palette, though, on such a fine warm day, sitting in the cool shade with thick grass underfoot and a small bamboo fountain trickling nearby. 

She returns to her studio feeling recharged, ready to continue her work. She fights down every instinct within her screaming to pull the other paintings from the storage area and continues filling in her new canvas with the colors she selected that morning. 

It stands half-done and splotchy at the end of the day and Clarke can barely stand to look at it. It's a haphazard mess, something she hasn't had to deal with since she was a student - she can't even count the years since. She pushes the easel all the way to one side of her studio, out of where it would need to be to catch the morning light, and leaves feeling distinctly unsettled.


	3. Chapter 3

"You look tired," says Wells. 

Clarke tries not to look too desperate for the coffee in her hand, but it's hard not to suck it all down as fast as she can. "I haven't been sleeping well," she admits.

"If my girlfriend looked like that, I wouldn't sleep well either," says Wells, and she throws her crumpled up straw wrapper at him. He grins, letting it bounce off his chest.

"I'm just - it's probably stress." She concentrates on her coffee, on drinking it in measured sips.

"From what?" 

It's a totally innocent question, but Clarke bristles. "I've got stuff in my life that stresses me. Work. And...you know. My mom's on me again to get married and have kids."

Wells regards her somberly, hearing her tone and putting away jokes for a moment. "Do you want to get married and have kids?"

It's not as though she hasn't thought about it, idling in a daydream now and then. But they're just daydreams. It's responsibility she's not ready for yet, maybe not ever, even though she knows Lexa wants children. They're too young anyway. There are plenty of reasons not to rush. She shrugs. 

Wells seems to get it anyway. "What about work? I thought your next show wasn't supposed to be done for a couple of months."

"Yeah..." That, too, is something she doesn't feel ready to discuss. Her work is transforming almost against her will; she doesn't know who is behind the darkness gradually filling her studio, but it's not her. But the more she attempts to paint, the more violent colors and images creep across her canvases. 

"Maybe your mom could prescribe something," Wells suggests.

She's thought of that too, but she wants to leave drugs as a last resort. For now it's usually enough to have Lexa nearby; once she awakens it only takes a few reassuring words and the slow stroke of Lexa's hand on her hip to settle her again. But she's aware that she's interrupting Lexa's sleep as well, and can't ignore that the dark circles under Lexa's eyes are starting to match her own.

"Maybe more exercise," she says.

"You hate exercise," Wells points out. 

"Maybe if I had a running buddy?" Her voice trails off hopefully.

"Do you remember what happened the last time we tried to train for that 10k?" Wells asks sternly.

Clarke's face is all innocence. "This wouldn't be training, though. Just a regular run. With a friend who can help motivate me."

"Why don't you just go running with Lexa in the morning?" 

Clarke's answering look is absolutely withering.

"Oh right, she gets up at ass o'clock and you keep 'artist's hours'." The way he hooks his fingers mockingly around "artist's hours" has her kicking him under the table. Wells shifts the entire table when he tries to dodge away, grinning at her indignant face.

"I work hard for the money!" she says.

"Maybe you shouldn't kick someone you just asked for a favor," Wells retorts, rubbing his shin with exaggerated pain but still grinning cheekily at her. "I'll go running with you, but you have to buy me dinner afterwards."

"Deal," she says instantly. They shake on it and make plans to meet up the next day for a run that Clarke hopes will exhaust her into sleeping through the night.

*

She runs with Wells, who is kind enough to slow down to her pace.

She swims with Raven, who is not kind enough to slow down to her pace but waits patiently for her to finish her assigned laps, even if she does heckle Clarke the entire time.

She goes to Octavia's boxing class and lets Octavia pummel her for three five-minute rounds at the end of every lesson because "otherwise you'll never learn."

She lifts with Finn and Bellamy who are unhealthily excited to introduce her to their gym and badger her nonstop about leg day and constantly send her protein shake recipes.

She does yoga with Lincoln, who helps her with all the poses, especially the ones she's not quite bendy enough to hold onto yet. "You're getting much better," he tells her at the end of each class.

Lexa gets her a foam roller, massages her at the end of every terrible workout, and doesn't mention the deepening worry lines in her forehead or the permanent bags under her eyes.

None of it is helping.

*

"Clarke," Lexa says, waking her up from where she's sprawled out on the couch.

Clarke takes a bit of prodding; she'd only managed to drift off again in the early morning after shaking the worst parts of her nightmare. Without Lexa to soothe her, it takes longer. The leather creaks as she slowly pushes herself upright, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. 

Lexa sits heavily next to her, still in her night clothes, which means it must still be early. But when Clarke checks the clock, it's well past the time when Lexa would have gone for a run and started breakfast. She can see golden sunlight flooding around the edges of the curtains.

"You'll be late for work," Clarke says, words flowing into an enormous yawn.

Lexa leans against her, head slumping onto Clarke's shoulder. "I'm taking a half day."

"Are you sick?" Clarke asks, hand automatically going to Lexa's forehead. 

Lexa catches her by the wrist, gently pulling Clarke's hand into her lap. "No, I'm fine. Just tired."

"Oh." Clarke shifts guiltily. She's been sleeping on the couch for a few days now, trying to avoid disrupting Lexa's sleep, but clearly it's not working. Lexa never sleeps well without Clarke nearby. 

Lexa sighs. "I think you should ask your mother for something. And if that doesn't work, I think you need to see a professional."

"Like a professional sleep doctor?"

Lexa squeezes her hand. "Maybe. Or a therapist."

Something inside Clarke automatically rejects the idea. "It's just bad dreams."

"Something is bothering you," Lexa says, voice soft but unwavering. "You can't keep going like this. It's not healthy." She presses a lingering kiss on the back of Clarke's hand, holds it to her cheek for a moment, adds a brush of her lips to Clarke's pulse point. "And I miss holding you at night."

When Lexa puts it like that, Clarke is hard pressed to argue. Lexa never asks her for much, but Clarke has never really given her a reason until now to need to ask. "You don't have to go in until after lunch?" she asks, yawning again.

She feels Lexa nod on her shoulder.

"Okay. Let's take a nap. Then I'll go see my mom."

Lexa doesn't protest, just follows Clarke as she pulls them both down with her arm wrapped loosely around Lexa's shoulders until she's comfortably draped across Clarke's body. 

*

Abby is resistant to the idea of a prescription at first. "You need natural sleep," she says while taking Clarke's temperature and pulse in her office.

"I've tried everything," Clarke says, feeling exhausted just thinking about it all.

"Exercise, diet, giving up caffeine..."

Clarke nods along robotically to everything Abby lists.

"...sex?"

She nearly falls out of her chair. "Mom!"

Abby shrugs, jotting down notes on Clarke's vitals. "It releases hormones that can help you sleep and reduces stress. It's worth a try."

Clarke splutters for a few seconds. "Our sex life is fine, oh my god."

"Well I know it's fine, honey-"

The spluttering grows stronger.

"-but you could try to have more sex? Or switching things up-"

"NO." Clarke covers her ears. "No no no no no no no no. Please just prescribe me something so I can go bleach my earholes and never look Lexa in the face again ever." When she risks looking up again, Abby is laughing at her. 

"Just think about it. In the meantime, this is a mild sedative. Go easy on this stuff, ok?" Abby tears a page off her scrip pad and slides it across the desk.

Clarke folds it up and tucks in her pocket, already feeling better just for having it. "I will. Thanks."

"And consider the sex-"

" _Goodbye_ ," Clarke says, her mother's laughter following her out the door.

*

The meds do help, for a while. Mild as they are they still manage to knock Clarke out for an entire night - but in the mornings she's groggy and unresponsive, and the rest of the day is spent swimming through fog. She can't even paint; she just stares at her canvases and sketchbooks and sometimes manages to halfheartedly put something down. Her hands don't have the same assuredness they once did, clutching numbly at her brushes, nearly dropping jars of paint thinner.

Her dreams remain strange and twisted as well; she's just no longer able to physically wake up from them. The meds keep her body sedated and still but her brain isn't getting the rest it needs. 

"You're not getting better," Lexa says, watching her shove her cereal around aimlessly. Her appetite is shifting too, diminished and dwindling towards nonexistent. Her mother had warned her that prolongued use of medication could have side effects.

"I know," Clarke sighs. "I'm going to see if my mom can recommend a good therapist." At this point she's desperate to try anything at all.

She can feel Lexa trying not to fret over her, curbing her protective impulses so Clarke doesn't feel coddled. She's so tired she almost doesn't care whether she's coddled or not. 

Abby is just as concerned as Lexa when Clarke calls her for the therapist's information, but she at least can't see how pale and strung out Clarke looks. Lexa can, and it's clear how worried she is when comes home at lunch to check in on Clarke, who hadn't been able to muster the energy to drag herself to the studio. Lexa has always preferred a working lunch, reasoning that otherwise it was a waste of an entire hour, but today she's at home rummaging quietly in the kitchen for cutlery.

She brings Clarke still-hot potato leek soup from the cafe down the street and makes small talk about work and very nearly doesn't return to the office, but Clarke insists. The food gives her a little energy boost and she pratically pushes Lexa out the door so she can at least get some work done. 

Lexa is home at five on the dot, an hour earlier than usual, and she's brought more food, as well as a lovely bouquet of flowers that bring a dab of color to the apartment. Clarke wraps her up in a hug and a long, wet kiss that has her abandoning the flowers on the kitchen island, arms circling Clarke's waist and holding her close. 

For a moment it all feels normal again. Lexa's lithe body pressed against her, warm mouth moving with hers, Clarke's hands in her thick, soft hair. Lexa brings clarity with the assuredness of her touch, the way she seems to know and revere Clarke's body. Her hands grip, fingers tightening at her hips until Clarke has to pull away for air.

"Hi," she says breathlessly. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Lexa says, and kisses her again. She grins against Clarke's mouth when she feels fingers plucking at the buttons of her shirt. "What about dinner."

Clarke nips at her jawline, right where it turns sharply towards her ear. "It'll keep."

Lexa backs her up towards the bedroom, shirt lost to Clarke's nimble fingers along the way, and for a while Clarke forgets the suffusing dread that has gradually been stealing the brightness from her life. 

They eat dinner in bed, feet tangling together while they talk idly of their plans for the weekend, and Clarke is just optimistic enough to believe when Lexa turns off the lamp and pulls her close, maybe tonight will be the night she goes back to normal.

*

_Clarke_

She runs, chasing something - a tatter of black, barely glimpsed - she can't catch up, can't seem to move her legs fast enough. 

There are long concrete corridors bathed in red emergency lighting, vague screams echoing from somewhere deep below her. 

There are trees, dark and rustling, concealing something. Flitting shadows hiss warnings and threats.

She's crying, maybe screaming at someone - her voice won't work either. 

It's all a flipbook of scattered images and sounds sewn together with a feeling of overwhelming guilt and loss and she wakes up in a panic, almost jolting off the mattress.

Lexa is there to hold her, but she's too rattled to calm easily this time. This is the first time she's remembered anything more than a vague sense impression and she immediately reaches for the sketchpad she keeps in her bedside drawer. The lamp goes on and Lexa is at least familiar with this, with Clarke hurrying to put a dream down on paper before she loses it permanently.

Clarke manages the long straight lines of an industrial-looking corridor with its thick support pillars before everything fades. She stares at the page, grasping for anything else, any remnant at all. 

Nothing.

At the very least, the act of drawing has taken the edge off, and she's able to put aside the sketchpad and turn the light off again, drawing comfort from Lexa's warm skin all along her body. It's a step, and any progress towards unlocking the mysterious darkness inside of her is better than being stuck half-awake in limbo.


	4. Chapter 4

"How long have the nightmares been happening?"

Clarke is silent, trying to remember. She's itching to get out of this therapist's office, where she can hear a clock on the wall ticking too loudly and the neutral colors just look like canvases begging for gashes of black. 

"Over a month now," Clarke says. She holds her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting.

"What are they about?"

Her hands tense slightly. "I can't remember."

"How do they make you feel?"

Clarke looks anywhere but at the therapist. "Afraid. They're scary. They're nightmares."

"Afraid of anything in particular?"

"No, just generally. Afraid. There's something wrong and I can't..." She shrugs. 

She's made to detail how she's been coping with the nightmares and how she feels now and every second that passes that she's forced to dissect what's happening, her fingers dig deeper and deeper into her thighs. She shoots to her feet in the middle of another question about her feelings.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I can do this," says Clarke, hands balled into fists, feet desperate to run to the door.

"Why not?" Still that calm, neutral therapist's voice. Clarke shakes her head.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to talk about." The therapist is saying other soothing things but Clarke isn't listening. 

"I'm sorry. I can't." She's nearly in a panic now. She can't answer any more questions from a stranger about - about _this_. "I'm sorry," she says again, and flees.

*

She can't explain it, except that the more she was forced to say the words out loud, the more she was afraid it would all somehow be real. That it would coalesce right there in the room and take over her life, the way it's taken over her dreams.

She doesn't know how or why, she just knows she can't say it out loud. Her work is the only safe outlet, and at least that is flowing again. Clarke has never had to postpone an exhibition and she's not about to start now. 

Instead of trying to sleep again when she wakes up, now she slips away to the office where she's set up a canvas in one corner. She doesn't try to fight the strangeness inside of her anymore; she doesn't have the energy to deal with that on top of her sleep issues. 

She paints whatever wants to come out and drags the results down to her studio one by one. She doesn't let Lexa see them; she doesn't let anyone see them. She's pushing off that moment until they go up in the exhibit (while secretly hoping her old inspiration will return and render all this moot) and trying not to think about anything else but coping day to day. 

She asks Lexa not to question it. Lexa visibly fights against her instinct to argue with Clarke but in the end she allows Clarke to just plow forward without another word. The exhibit is the goal. If she can make it to that then she can take a breath, clear her head. 

"We'll go on vacation," Lexa says, massaging her neck and shoulders while she sits on the floor in front of Lexa on the sofa. It doesn't quite get her through the night, but it alleviates the worst of her tension, and it helps them stay close. Clarke doesn't have the energy for anything but her work right now and minus a hushed, hurried encounter at lunch last week, they haven't done much more than kiss before one or both of them passes out. 

Clarke groans low in her throat, head drooping. She squeezes Lexa's foot where it dangles next to her. "Sounds perfect. Where?"

"Anywhere you want. Somewhere warm. A beach, maybe." 

Clarke smiles, eyes closed, imagining everything. "Sleep all day, go out dancing at night. Bikinis." 

Lexa scratches lightly down the back of Clarke's neck, sending tingles along her spine. "You have such a one-track mind."

"Or I could just stay indoors the whole time-"

An extra hard squeeze into her deltoid. "No, bikinis are fine. I think you should wear a bikini the whole vacation." 

"I knew it, you perv."

She's rewarded by a snort, then a kiss to the side of her neck. "Come on, you're done. Bed." Lexa pulls her up and they go through their routine together. Clarke watches her splash water on her face, rinsing away suds, leaving her still-youthful features dripping water. Their eyes meet in the mirror, Lexa's clear and open green bouncing back to Clarke's shaded, morose blue. 

"You're so good to me," Clarke says. 

"You make me want to be good," Lexa says, steady as ever.

Clarke slides along the bathroom counter until she can press up against Lexa in a hug. Her right hand massages gently at Lexa's neck, the other rubbing her back. She buries her nose in the curve of Lexa's neck and stays there. "Thank you for going through this with me."

Lexa searches out the same spot on Clarke with her nose, mirroring her, gently swaying with her. "Always."

 

*

Clarke doesn't know how she can still be scared after enduring the same nightmare for so long. Sometimes she catches new details, glimpses of half-formed faces and whispers from voices she should know, but the constants are the fear and the guilt. 

Sometimes hands - she thinks they're hands - clutch at her ankles, trying to drag her from somewhere, from something. She's always desperate to get to a destination. There are expectations that she'll be there and if she isn't, everything is gone. Everyone is gone.

She paints it. She draws it. If she's going to be exhausted and frayed she's going to get something out of it and then she's going to sell her work for ridiculous amounts of money and take Lexa to the farthest deserted beach she can find on a map.

Wells brings her coffee at her studio at least once a week, sitting out of the way and chatting idly or browsing through music while she takes a break from work. She knows that Lexa called him and loves them both for it.

At the very least, Lexa has adjusted to her nightly interruption. She still doesn't sleep through Clarke's nightmares, but she's learned to let Clarke handle them herself. She's awake, checking in with Clarke, and asleep again in a matter of minutes. Clarke still hits the couch every couple of nights just to give Lexa a break. She doesn't like that they're learning to be apart, even though Raven has often made exaggerated barfing noises at them while gurgling something that sounds like "codependent."

They're not codependent. They're fine being apart if they have to be, but why choose to be separated more than life demands of them? It's like Lexa was made just for her, and she's not about to pretend she doesn't love spending time with her just because her friends tease her.

"I think I'm almost ready," she tells Lexa one evening. It's her favorite part of the day, the few hours between dinner and bed when they have nowhere to be except with each other. 

"Oh?" Lexa seems to keep reading, but Clarke can tell that she has Lexa's undivided attention from the way her hand pauses in its well-traveled route through Clarke's hair. 

Clarke shifts her head so she can properly look up at Lexa from her spot on Lexa's lap. "I have most of the pieces I need to complete the exhibit. Just a few more left."

"That's great," Lexa says, closing her book on one finger and setting it on the arm of the couch. She traces Clarke's cheekbone with her thumb. "You've been working so hard."

"What do you think about Maui. Or Bali. Or somewhere in the Caribbean. What about Turks and Caicos?" Clarke says, rattling off all the places she's researched in her idle moments, dreaming of a future where she and Lexa can be alone together without worrying about darkness.

"Turks and Caicos," Lexa repeats, mouth curved into a laugh. "So you're committed to a beach."

"I thought we already agreed this would be an all-bikini vacation," Clarke says. She reaches for Lexa's hand so she can touch all along it, tracing her palm lines and her delicate, nimble fingers. "I'm just so ready to be done for a while."

"And you think this exhibit will help you be done?" 

"It will," Clarke says, nearly whispers. She shifts, turning her face into Lexa's stomach, squeezing her eyes shut. "It definitely will."

*

She makes one last halfhearted effort to resume her old style with just two weeks left until the exhibition. For three days, she sits in front of a pristine, primed canvas with a handful of older sketches nearby for inspiration and guidance. She ignores every instinct inside of her clamoring to slash and snarl and knife its way across that canvas and even gets as far as coating a brush with daffodil yellow before her trembling hand drops it on the ground. 

Her nightmares are the worst they've ever been on these nights; the last one she spends in the studio, catnapping on a pallet of lumber used for frames, and when she wakes feeling like a blurry smear against the world there's no more pretense.

Her last piece is small by her standards, more intimate than the others. She's the least restrained she's ever been, but also the most focused. Without even a token struggle against her subconscious, she's more able to channel her dreams into her work, able to dial in on her feelings and the few images she's managed to pull loose.

Two days before the exhibition is scheduled to open, all the canvases are finally dry. She hasn't slept in more than a three-hour chunk for nearly a week and she's barely functioning at all but she's finished, and for a full day all she does is let Lexa take care of her.

Her mother comes by as well, tutting ferociously over the state of her daughter. "Artists," she clucks, brushing Clarke's hair from her face. Clarke can hear Lexa and her mom conversing quietly just outside the bedroom as she's fading in and out, but she's so cozy and bundled up in bed that she doesn't mind that they're discussing her.

Even though she's dipping in and out of sleep, she only skims the surface of her dreams. She needs a solid REM cycle but she keeps jolting awake before she can drop too deep, and honestly she doesn't mind. It's almost as if she's siphoned off the worst of the poison and can now have a brief respite before it overwhelms her system again.

Lexa comes and goes, sometimes rubbing her back, sometimes sitting quietly in bed with her and reading, sometimes getting Clarke to sit up and have a bit of soup and a few bites of toast. 

"I have to set up," Clarke murmurs, sensing that time is passing but unsure if it's still two days or the day before.

"I took care of it. They're all being transported over to the gallery. You can make sure they're set up right in the morning. You'll have a full day to work it out," Lexa says. 

"I don't want anyone to see yet-"

"I told the movers to cover everything at your studio tagged for transport. They're in the gallery under sheets. No one saw anything."

Clarke puddles up again under the comforter, letting herself relax one more time before the last big push. "I love you," she says.

"I love you too, even if you are a brooding artist genius," Lexa says, trying to keep her tone light for Clarke's sake. She hears the strain anyway, but appreciates the effort.

"You are gonna...look so good...bikini..." Clarke nods off again.

*

Clarke slouches into the gallery looking like a wreck, but feeling much more human than she did a day ago. Under Lexa's careful tending, she's on her feet and able to deal with making sure the exhibit is set up to her exacting specifications.

The gallery workers have generally put paintings in their assigned spots based on her notes and the diagram she drew beforehand of which tagged paintings go where, but on her first walkthrough, pulling off sheets and getting a feel for the room, she can tell they need adjustment.

She stands in her baggy sweatpants and ratty t-shirt stolen from Lexa years ago and gives directions, switching out pieces and getting everything arranged just so until she can tell she's just being fiddly. "Thanks guys," she tells the movers, finally letting them go. 

Now alone, she walks through one more time. There's a distinct progression from the entrance to the far corner of the gallery, light to dark, pale natural hues to dark invasive ones. It's certainly dramatic, even if it rings up a fair amount of cognitive dissonance between her ears. She gives her head a good shake, hands clenching and unclenching, and pulls her communicator from her pocket to call Lexa.

Lexa answers on the first tone; Clarke can just picture her keeping her communicator close at hand, trying to cover up her anxiety. "Clarke?" she says.

"Can you come by the gallery this evening? I want to show you what I've been working on." Clarke bites her lip, nervous for some reason when she knows the answer is yes. 

"Of course. I'll see you there at 5:15." A pause. "How do you feel?"

Clarke pulls a wry face. "I'll let you know at 5:15."

She takes the rest of the afternoon for herself, tidying up the apartment, making sure her outfit is ready for the next evening, and changing into a clean pair of jeans, though she can't bear to change out of the shirt. It's a smidge too tight in the chest but it makes her feel close to Lexa, and in any case, she knows Lexa still gets a kick out of seeing her in it. She also stops for some flowers on the way back to the gallery, a sweet little bunch of lilies of the valley.

Lexa is already waiting for her in front of the gallery. When she sees Clarke approaching she grins and pulls her hands out from behind her back - revealing her own bouquet of flowers. Clarke lights up at the bright, cheerful jumble of snapdragons. 

"Hi," she says, kissing Lexa on the corner of her mouth. "You're gonna spoil me if you keep this up."

"You're already spoiled," Lexa says. "I might as well accept it and give in."

"Well, if you don't want your flowers..."

Lexa grabs for them. "Those flowers are mine."

Clarke plays keepaway just enough to draw Lexa closer into the circle of personal space, then abruptly pushes against her in a whole-body kiss. "I'm yours too," she breathes out against Lexa's mouth, uncaring that they've squished both bouquets between them. 

"Should we go inside?" Lexa asks, even though she seems slightly unfocused from the ambush, hands still vaguely groping for Clarke of their own accord.

Part of Clarke wants to stay there on the sidewalk forever, or at least until tomorrow, anything to put off revealing the depth of her suffering to Lexa. But the other part of her needs Lexa to truly understand, because if she does, maybe she'll help Clarke find her way back to her old life. Their old life.

Without another word, Clarke unlocks the gallery and leads Lexa inside. She hits the bank of light switches one by one and waits silently, letting Lexa judge for herself.

Lexa walks among the paintings, taking a full circuit of the gallery, studying everything with a neutral, serious face. When she returns to Clarke, still at the door, still holding two handfuls of slightly smushed flowers, she keeps her counsel for a few moments longer while she arranges her thoughts.

"Is this what you've been feeling because of your nightmares?" Lexa asks. 

Clarke nods.

"I'm sorry." She steps a little closer, hands sliding down both of Clarke's arms and squeezing her wrists. "I'm sorry you're going through something that makes you feel like...that."

Clarke can't deny it, can't gloss it over or deflect it. Her work is an open wound, still raw, still in need of care to keep it from draining her completely. "You helped," she says hoarsely. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Lexa closes with her all the way, resting their foreheads together, keeping them linked through her hands. "Thank you for letting me see this first."

"I want you to know that you come first. I know it's been hard lately but you are more important than anything in this gallery." Clarke tilts her head just so, rubbing their noses in an old, familiar gesture. Everything about this moment seems familiar and Clarke feels her heart rate quicken for reasons that are beyond her. 

"Dinner?" Lexa says.

"Let's go to the pub. Tomorrow night I'll be too tired after the show to do anything but fall into bed," Clarke says, thinking of the relaxed lighting and nice menu at their favorite restaurant, where she doesn't have to wear anything nicer than jeans.

"Fall into bed, huh." 

Clarke can practically hear how Lexa is sporting her most charming grin even though she can't see it, pressed up close as she is. She smacks Lexa lightly on the butt. "Come on, perv. You're buying me dinner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Clarke is mostly nerves as the day of the showing dawns. Her nightmares are still subdued, not quite full strength, so she wakes up with enough energy to be properly jittery.

Lexa has already made up a fruit platter for her, arranging it prettily on her plate, surrounded by petals from some of the flowers. "I'll see you there at seven, before you open up," she says, kissing Clarke on the temple. "You're gonna be great."

Clarke goes to the gallery after Lexa leaves, wanting to walk through one more time. Wells has already texted her a photo of himself giving her an enormous thumbs up by the time she's walking through the doors, plus an invitation to lunch with him and the crew.

She hurries through her inspection, wanting to go enjoy some time with her friends and get her mind off the evening to come. She's always a little nervous before a showing, but tonight is different. She's different. She can't help but feel like something could change tonight.

Wells is waiting for her at a bistro close to his office, seated at a large table on the patio. Bellamy and Octavia leave off thumb wrestling to stand up and hug her from both sides as she walks up. "Lincoln had to work or he'd be here," Octavia says. "But he'll definitely be there tonight."

"Where's Finn and Raven?" Clarke asks. She jumps when she feels something cold and wet slide down the back of her neck and into her shirt. "You bitch!" she yells at Raven, desperately shaking the hem of her shirt to get the ice cube out.

Raven is unrepentant, dodging Clarke's flailing retaliatory arm with her hands full of champagne flutes. She shoves Finn. "Show her."

He holds up a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne nestled inside. "Congratulations!"

"Guys, it is way too early to start drinking," she says, flopping down next to Wells. 

Raven places the flutes on the table, one for each of them. "That is a lie created by the anti-drinking industry."

"Aside from the fact that that's not a thing, to what end?" asks Wells.

"Making my life harder, shut up and drink," says Raven. She grabs the champagne bottle and unwraps the head, pulling off the metal cage and easily popping the cork with a strong hand.

"How many champagne bottles do you open on the regular?" Octavia asks.

"Don't worry about that, just enjoy it," Raven says, and pours for everyone.

Clarke only has one glass, wanting to stay clear for the showing and also unsure how low her tolerance is while she's so run down. Even one glass while they snack on a few group dishes is enough to make her a bit giggly. 

Raven and Octavia volunteer to walk back to her apartment to help her get ready for the showing and she leaves lunch with a big hug from Wells who assures her yet again that she is going to be great. 

"You guys know I already have an outfit picked out," Clarke says. "Also I'm an adult who can choose clothes."

"I am shocked and betrayed that you would choose clothes without us," says Raven. "Everyone knows that girls have to decide on outfits by committee. It is girl law. Because we are girls."

"Shut up," says Clarke, nevertheless laughing at her.

"You've just been super worn down and we wanna hang out with you and stuff," says Octavia. "And potentially reject any bad outfits. Remember winter formal?"

"We agreed never to mention winter formal again," Clarke says, a sharp warning in her voice.

"Whatever you want, it's your day," Raven says breezily, and links elbows with Clarke for the rest of the walk.

*

Seven dresses, four skirts, and three pairs of pants later, Octavia and Raven finally leave so they can get ready on their own. Clarke pulls on the dress she originally picked, despite all the prodding from Raven to "just get filthy and blow everyone's minds." Instead she sticks with her simple blue dress, cut flatteringly along the neckline to reveal her collarbones and neck, with lighter white panels around the waist and a hemline that hints at slightly too much thigh. It's one of her favorites, not just for the nice fit, but because Lexa has never been able to not stare at her in it.

She double-checks that she has her ID, communicator, and keys in her clutch, then catches a cab over to the gallery rather than walk in her strappy heels.

True to her word, Lexa is waiting for her outside the gallery, cutting a neat, slim figure as she leans against the door with her arms folded. She pushes off to give Clarke her hand exiting the cab and doesn't let go as she eyes Clarke up and down. "Nice dress," she murmurs.

"I know," Clarke says, and kisses her just lightly enough to avoid smudging her lipstick. "You don't look bad either."

Lexa smirks at her, free hand smoothing down over her black suit jacket. "Maybe we should skip the art and get out of here."

Clarke hums a little as Lexa's hands slide along her waist, an acknowledgement that she wishes they could go be alone together. They stand close until someone knocks on the door from the inside.

"Ms. Griffin, the caterers are almost done setting up," says the gallery manager, politely ignoring her proximity to Lexa.

"I'll be right in," Clarke says over Lexa's shoulder. She pulls back, suddenly feeling her nerves again.

"You're ready," Lexa says, hand squeezing her waist one last time. 

Clarke nods. "I'm ready." If Lexa notices that Clarke holds her hand a little too tightly as they walk in, she doesn't mention it.

Clarke walks the gallery one last time, mostly for show since it's too late to do anything at this point. She doesn't let go of Lexa's hand as they walk, and she knows Lexa can feel how her grip changes as they go deeper and deeper into her traumas on canvas. She pulls Lexa into the back of the gallery, around a corner, and they stand in comfortable silence with their hands idly touching.

Fifteen minutes later the doors are opened to the public. Clarke indulges in one last touch with Lexa, knowing she can't mingle and shmooze buyers with her girlfriend hanging off her arm. "I'll be close," Lexa murmurs in her ear, pressing a kiss into her skin. Clarke emerges from her little hideaway, smoothing down her dress with more confidence than she feels. 

The first to arrive are Lincoln and Octavia. Lincoln looks eager to see her work, as usual. Octavia has mentioned a few times that Lincoln wouldn't be opposed to one day putting together a show of his own, but he's been too shy to ask Clarke to help him talk to the right people. 

The rest of her friends trickle in, along with faces Clarke recognizes from previous shows, part of her minor but dedicated following. Her mom and dad are there after half an hour, good timing considering how busy her mom can get at the hospital. The little gallery fills pretty quickly and Clarke walks among the crowd shaking hands, putting on a smile, hoping her concealer is holding up to mask the exhaustion.

Lexa somehow manages to get a small plate of fruit and crackers in her hands, then switches it for a cup of coffee. She's always within Clarke's eyeline, but not too close, letting her work in her own space. Clarke catches her talking to Octavia about something, gesturing to a painting that depicts a river of black surrounding a calmer green center. 

Lexa shoots her a lopsided grin, hands not stopping in their movements. Clarke grins back. She's halfway through the showing and already she's gotten compliments on the dark turn in her work. She might pull this off.

"So original," says a woman in pearls she doesn't know but who wants to buy a piece, which bumps her to the top of the conversation list. "What was your inspiration?"

Clarke has been answering variations on this question for an hour and she opens her mouth to give the usual about wanting a change in her style, but before she can, her father crosses her line of sight. He joins her mom, an arm drapped casually across her shoulders. They're talking to Raven, who's soon joined by Lincoln, then Finn and Bellamy and Wells. Lexa goes with Octavia to complete the little scrum and they all stand gathered in front of her biggest canvas, a piece she'd soaked in red. 

"I..." Her mouth goes dry.

Her friends and family are laughing, talking, looking at her work. She sees them outlined in the darkness and violence she created, bright against the drenched canvas. 

Her breath comes faster. "I don't know," she manages.

"Are you all right?" the woman asks.

Lexa has already spotted Clarke, frowning at her obvious distress. She weaves her way over, grasping Clarke's hand. 

"I can't..." Clarke's voice is shaky with panic. "I can't breathe." She feels a shiver start in her body, as though her temperature is dropping and fast. 

"Okay. Keep breathing. Come on. You're okay." Lexa coaxes her back to their spot around the corner, where the only people who can see them are the occasional waitstaff who have to pass through. She holds Clarke's hands clasped between hers, trying to warm them up. "Look at me. Look at me, Clarke."

Clarke tries to focus on Lexa's face, her eyes. Everything feels like it's gradually tilting off its axis. 

"Breathe with me Clarke," Lexa says. She inhales slowly, making sure Clarke is following along. Then a slow exhale. 

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

The shivering subsides after a minute, but Clarke still can't get rid of the buzz in her head, the utter wrongness of everything that her life is at the moment. 

"What do you need?" Lexa asks. Her hands have moved on to rubbing up and down Clarke's arms in a soothing rhythm. 

Clarke just slumps against the wall, trying to reorient herself. "I don't know. I don't know." She repeats it to herself as it becomes more mantra than answer.

"Clarke." Lexa firms up her grip on Clarke's arms, trying to pull her focus. "I want you to breathe and tell me what you need."

Clarke swallows. She listens to her instincts. "I need to leave. Can we just get out of here?"

Lexa nods reassuringly. "Okay. Let me tell your parents-"

"No. Now. Please." Clarke clutches Lexa's forearm, begging silently. 

Lexa touches her cheek. "Okay. I'll text them." She peeks around the corner once, shakes her head at someone, then puts her arm around Clarke's waist and guides her towards the back exit. Once outside she can feel Clarke shudder slightly in the breeze, even though it's a warm night. She pulls off her blazer and drapes it around Clarke's shoulders. 

"Do you want to walk or should I get a cab?" Lexa asks when they've left the gallery half a block behind. 

"Let's walk," Clarke says, already feeling a little bit better out in the open. She pulls Lexa's jacket as tightly closed as possible and focuses on immediate sensations - the warmth of the jacket lining, putting one foot in front of the other, Lexa's arm steady around her.

Lexa doesn't pressure her to speak, leading them all the way to their apartment in silence, only removing her arm to pull out her keys and unlock the door. Clarke can feel her communicator buzzing in her bag; she can't bear to deal with all the messages that must be backing up. She sits on the couch and toes off her heels while Lexa putters a bit in the kitchen, putting on a kettle to boil and pulling some of Clarke's favorite ice cream from the freezer. She hears a few blips as Lexa sends messages on her communicator, presumably to her friends and family at the gallery.

When they're all settled and Clarke has her teacup warming her hands and a blanket draped across her lap (with Lexa's jacket still pulled around her shoulders) she feels ready to talk. Lexa sits lengthwise on the couch, back against the couch arm and feet just nudging Clarke's thigh.

"I don't know what happened," she says to start. She waits, trying to gather up the feelings, the thoughts, the panic, into something coherent. "I just had to leave. I couldn't be there anymore."

Lexa is patient and quiet.

"I don't know what's wrong with me." She feels her eyes water. "I want to get better. I want to be better." It's suddenly all wrong, the tea and the blanket and the comfort of her apartment. She feels like throwing the cup across the room and struggles to place it on the table, out of easy reach. "I want to leave. Right now."

Lexa looks as much alarmed as she does concerned. "Where?" 

"Anywhere. The first place we can find that has a beach. I want to get out of here and not think about anything." She pulls her laptop from under the coffee table, opening a travel site and clicking around for tickets. "Look, there's a flight leaving for Bora Bora in an hour, just one changeover. We can totally make it."

"Clarke..."

She grips Lexa's ankle. "Please. Let's go. Just leave for a little while. It'll be like a fresh start."

She can see Lexa wavering. Lexa has never said no to her, not on anything she's truly wanted, and she's counting on it now. 

"Okay," Lexa says after a minute. "It'll be an adventure." She offers a smile, small at first, but growing in excitement as Clarke matches it.

"Yes. Lexa, this is going to be amazing. I promise." Clarke scrambles loose of the blanket, first to plant an enormous kiss on Lexa's forehead, then to run to the bedroom to pack. Essentials only; they can buy everything else they need on site.

Lexa helps her, grabbing her own duffel, and they manage to grab everything they can think of in five minutes. They have one bag each and Clarke dashes off a hasty message to her mother that she'll probably be out of reach for a bit as they hop to the islands. 

They hold hands in the cab on the way to the airport. Clarke hasn't flown in a long time, not since - she frowns, unable to exactly count the years. But it's been long enough to go hazy at the edges, which makes it a perfect time to make new memories. She smiles at Lexa, a happy, tired smile, and Lexa smiles back. They're not usually ones for rash decisions but there's nothing usual about Clarke's life at the moment. 

She shoves money at the cab driver when he pulls up to their terminal; their flight is probably boarding right at that moment, they're cutting it so close. They run with their bags to security, scanning their tickets on their communicators and trying not to look too impatient. 

"Excuse me, ma'am," says a security officer, stepping in front of them after they pass through the body scanner with their carry-ons. 

"Yes?" Clarke can see another guard approaching Lexa from the opposite side.

"Could you please come with me?"

"Is something wrong?" Lexa asks, drifting closer to Clarke.

"We just need to do a pat down in private," says the guard. He gestures towards a door labeled for security personnel only.

Clarke looks longingly down the corridor that leads to their gate. "Okay, but our flight is boarding now, so..."

"We'll make it fast, ma'am." The guard behind Lexa is now uncomfortably in their personal space, trying to urge them towards the door. They follow the first guard, who splits them into separate areas and asks them to wait for a female security officer to conduct their pat down.

Clarke doesn't like not being able to see Lexa; she wishes they could have just had their pat down together, in the same room. She turns around as the door opens, hating every second she's in this sterile beige pen that reminds her too much of her therapist's office, a complaint for the delay already on its way out of her mouth. "Hi, I'm ready to-" 

She freezes, staring at the strange woman in the doorway, at her perfect makeup and daring red dress.

"I'm sorry, Clarke," says the stranger. "But no one leaves the City of Light."


	6. Chapter 6

"Who the hell are you?" Clarke asks, backing up against the wall, eyes scanning the room for any kind of help. A weapon, a security camera so she can signal for help, another way to escape.

The woman doesn't respond, only tilting her head and scanning Clarke with unnerving sharpness. 

"Where's Lexa?"

Still no answer, but the woman does draw closer. Clarke tries to examine her as closely as she's being examined, noting the expensive cut and quality of her clothes and shoes, how she walks with precision. 

"I asked you a question. You can't just hold me here. Where's Lexa? Who are you?" Clarke is a few steps from her duffel on the table against the opposite wall. She figures maybe she can toss the bag at the woman and make a break for it.

"Clarke." Her voice is huskier, higher than Clarke expected. "Do you know who you are?"

Clarke's eyes dart between the bag and the door and the woman. "You obviously know who I am. So tell me who _you_ are."

"You don't remember me." The woman's eyebrows knit fractionally. 

"We've never met before," Clarke says.

The woman seems to process this. "My name is Alie," she says at last. 

Something about that name tugs at Clarke, but she can't hold on to it. Still, Alie catches the hiccup in her confusion. "You do remember me." She doesn't seem pleased about it.

"No. I don't know you. I don't-" Clarke tries to resist the sparks firing in her brain, building connections faster than she can really comprehend, memories reassembling themselves.

"You do remember me, Clarke. I can tell." Alie lets out a disappointed little sigh. 

Clarke can almost grasp the last moment she saw Alie's face, the last time they were in a room together. She can remember there was - a struggle? Fear. A place she didn't want to be. "What did you do to me," she grits out. Her hand massages her temple, trying to make sense of all the new information cascading into her mind.

"I brought you to a perfect world, Clarke Griffin. And you rejected it." Alie is almost glaring at her now.

"What do you mean brought me? Where did you take me from? _Where is Lexa?_ " She's almost to the table now, almost within arm's reach of the duffel. 

"I don't know where Lexa is. Tell me how much you remember."

"We came here together. I know you have her," Clarke says. She can see Alie track how she's edging towards the table and pauses, trying to keep her distracted and talking.

"Where do you suppose 'here' is?" Alie asks in return, clasping her hands in front of her body with that same prim precision that seems to mark all her movements. 

"The city," Clarke says, although she's suddenly unsure of what that means. Things are coming unstuck, rearranging themselves, interfering with what she believes and what she actually knows. "You said the City of Light."

"Lexa is not in the City of Light," Alie says.

"Where did you take her? What do you want with her? With me?" 

Alie seems to be growing impatient. "I think it's best if I just show you."

A cold sheet of fear washes over Clarke, though she doesn't comprehend at all where Alie is trying to lead her. "Show me what?"

Alie looks into the middle distance and suddenly her world is melting, fading, _peeling_ away from her until all that's left is a vast white nothingness.

Clarke reels, hands going out, trying to find something, brain searching for a point of reference that will let her comprehend where she is. "What did you - how - where -" Her hands find nothing and she falls backward. At the very least she falls onto _something_ , even if she can't tell what it is, just that it's a solid, hard surface. There's only her and Alie left.

"We're still in the City of Light. Just...a certain part of it," says Alie. She walks around Clarke, examining her as she breathes hard on the ground. "You had to be isolated from the others."

"What others? Who else have you dragged in here? My parents? Wells? Are my friends here too?" Clarke realizes how weak her position is, trying to make demands while she's on her ass. With a fair amount of wobbling, she forces herself back to her feet. 

"Some of your friends are here. Some of them aren't. How much do you remember now?" Alie asks, still circling. Clarke is going dizzy trying to keep track of her.

"I..." She squeezes her eyes hard, still feeling her brain unraveling and sewing itself back up.

"It'll come back eventually," Alie dismisses. She finally stops circling and watches Clarke with her arms folded, eyes narrowed. "So now what do I do with you. Clearly you can't be allowed into the system. Not yet."

"What system? Why was I isolated? Isolated from what, the city? But I was in the city-" She cuts herself off, seeing that Alie isn't even paying attention to her anymore. It's as good a moment as any and she lunges at Alie, aiming for her waist.

And goes crashing through her body, phasing through and leaving behind a completely intact Alie. 

"We can't return you to the old simulation," Alie says, still thinking and ignoring Clarke.

Clarke clutches her arm where it crashed against the floor, registering what Ali is saying. "Simulation? Are you telling me this whole thing was fake?" She's horrified to feel the truth of it in her gut, old memories clashing against new. Everything she felt - everyone she loved - all fake. She wants to throw up but there's nothing in her stomach to expel, leaving her dry heaving and miserable.

"Well, just sit tight for now," says Alie. "I'm sure I'll come up with something."

Clarke tries to fight past the pain in her arm, dragging herself to her knees. She sees her window of opportunity closing rapidly and tries frantically to stall. "Wait, you can't just leave me here! There's nothing here."

"Clarke," Alie says, her voice turning soft. She crouches down in front of Clarke, left hand trailing delicately along her jaw. It is infuriatingly solid this time. "I'm always with you." 

Alie blinks into nothingness, as though a switch has been flipped, leaving Clarke in flat endless nothingness. "Alie?" she says. She stands up again, taking a few uncertain steps in no particular direction. "Alie?" Clarke spins in a circle, desperately searching for anything but the unbroken whiteness, lit by some unseen diffuse light source. " _Alie?_ " she screams. 

There's nothing, not even an echo. Clarke slumps to the ground and rocks her hand into her heads, heels digging into her eyes. She's alone.

*

She doesn't know how long she sits there, knees hugged to her chest, rocking slightly and humming to herself just to have some kind of noise keeping her company. There's no way to tell time, not even the signals of her own body. She doesn't feel hungry or tired, a sickening irony as she realizes all the fatigue of her sleepless nights is now gone.

She spends most of it trying to sort out the real from the illusion. She remembers being forced into a darkened room, being strapped to a flat cushioned surface. A prick in her arm, something clamping over her face. 

But she can remember years of her life in the city too. Years and years, her childhood, growing up, art school, meeting Lexa, making a life with her. Not in a connected stream, just in fits and starts, years clustering together. But she does remember them and they feel as real to her as anything else. They have all the texture of real memories, infused with sounds and touches and tastes. 

When she started having nightmares - maybe that was when she was brought to the City of Light in the out-there world. She can't bring herself to call it real, not when she can still feel Lexa sleeping beside her, can still remember hugging Wells and her parents, that cold ice cube down her back from Raven.

It hits her eventually: _Wells is dead_. The grief surges fresh, as fresh as the day he died as she remembers all over again. Wells is dead. Her father is dead. Finn is dead. 

She weeps into her knees, the combined grief of it all flooding into her, settling once again into her heart and etching itself into her bones. The dead return to her in a host, clamoring for her attention, reigniting all the guilt she processed over the past few months. 

She just saw her father at the gallery. She can remember what he was wearing, the warm strength of his hand on her shoulder, his dorky, proud smile as he saw her talking to a buyer. She can even remember the smell of his cologne, just a little too heavy as if he'd rushed splashing it on before coming to the showing. It's the day of his floating all over again and she misses him with a deep, unrelenting ache that hollows out her chest. 

Eventually the tears subside. 

Anger begins to mix with her grief, mingling until it becomes the only thing she can feel. She pounds a closed fist on the ground, barely aware of the strangeness of the textureless solid thing under her hand. 

"Let me out!" she screams, pounding both fists down. " _Let me out_. Alie you bitch I know you can hear me. LET ME OUT."

She's pounding so hard her hands should be bleeding and yet they don't, thanks to whatever strange limbo that is her prison. She beats at the floor for as long as she can and then she goes limp, her fury spent for the time being.

"Hello Clarke."

She bolts upright, head swiveling towards this new voice. Somehow, her brain is able to register this as yet another shock in the multitudes that have shaken her so far. 

Thelonious Jaha stands in front of her, as neat and calm as can be. He's dressed in plain slacks and a quarter-zip sweater, looking so much like Wells' dad that she almost feels like she's back on the Ark. 

"What the hell?" Clarke manages.

Jaha steps closer to her; she scoots away on her heels and hands and he stops immediately, something sad passing over his face. "Clarke, I'm sorry Alie left you here." His eyes drift and the whiteness blurs, shifting into a familiar room dappled with late afternoon sunlight. Clarke's head swivels frantically as she recognizes her own living room. 

"Why are you bringing me _here_?" she spits, heart aching hard for an illusion. She has no way to tell but it feels like less than a day since she was on her way to the airport with Lexa, looking forward to escaping her burdens. 

"I apologize. I should have realized it would be hard to come back here," Jaha says, one hand gesturing to the comfortable couch and overstuffed chairs, the worn coffee table still with a teacup set on it, the mingled flowers in a vase on the kitchen island. Lexa could be just out of sight, working in the office or in the laundry room. Not real, _Lexa isn't real_. Clarke squeezes her eyes shut. 

When she opens them, they're in her therapist's office, except now Jaha is seated where her therapist once sat. He gestures to the other chair across from him. Seeing no other choice for now, Clarke takes a seat.

"You must have so many questions. Please, ask. I'll do my best to answer," says Jaha. 

Clarke looks at him, wondering if it's truly Jaha. It seems to be; it jibes with the detached, self-assured man she last saw in Polis, when he came peddling his stories about the City of Light. "How did I end up here?" she asks finally.

Jaha steeples his fingers. "My acolytes brought you here from Polis."

"Am I really here? Or is this just...is it all an illusion, including me?" Clarke gestures to her body. 

"What is an illusion? What is real?" Jaha asks, tilting his head. 

"Cut the bullshit. Where's my body?" Clarke snaps.

Jaha doesn't react to her temper, which only inflames her further. "Your physical body is still in Polis. But you, Clarke, exist in the City of Light."

"Why did you put me in here? I remember being put under. I didn't come here willingly, I know that much." Clarke glares at Jaha, wanting to throttle the serenity right off his face.

"It was for your own good. We hoped - I hoped that if you had a chance to adjust to the city on your own, we could integrate you into the full city later. We tried to create a perfect world for you, but you resisted. Your mind couldn't accept the change in reality." Jaha's expression slips, just a little, revealing a hint of curiosity, and something else that Clarke finds sinister.

"Perfect world? How do you know what my perfect world is?" Clarke asks.

"We didn't. Alie created the framework and you populated it with your subconscious desires. This is the world as you've always wished it could be," says Jaha. He glances around the office, out the window at the gleaming spires of the city center. "And it was beautiful, for a while."

"The nightmares," Clarke says to herself. She looks back at Jaha. "They've been going on for weeks. How long have I been in here?"

"Time flows differently in the city. It's only been four days since we put you under. Alie thought an accelerated program could work with you, but I told her you were far too stubborn for that." Jaha smiles in a fatherly way, as though sharing an old joke with her. 

Clarke grits her teeth. "I want out. Now."

"Clarke-"

"Don't sit there acting like you did this for me. I'm telling you to let me go _now_ or I'm just your prisoner and you're just my jailer. Let me out." She stands up, kicking the table between them with her heel so that it jumps at him. " _Let me out_." 

"Clarke, I can't-" Jaha's turns his head suddenly, as though catching a far-off sound. "I have to go. I'll be back." He flips off, just like Alie, and Clarke is alone in the office. At the very least the illusion remains and she's not stuck in the nothing anymore. 

She immediately goes to the door, wanting to see just how far the illusion goes and if there's an exit she can use. If this is really just a sophisticated virtual reality, there has to be a way that users can exit the system, she can figure that much from the computer basics she learned on the Ark. 

But the office door is locked, and no amount of tugging is budging the handle. She spots a light chair sitting against the wall, light enough for her to pick up. She grabs it, positions herself carefully by the door, and swings the chair legs-first at the handle. She batters it until the handle clatters off and she's able to shove the door open. 

There's nothing but white, the same unending nothing as before. Clarke tosses her chair in frustration and slams the door. She slams it again out of sheer spite and turns in a circle, trying to think of another way out. 

The ground underneath her feet rumbles, making her pause. "Jaha?" she calls out. "Alie?"

Another rumble, but no reply from either of her captors. 

She chances a peek beyond the door and her eyes go wide. The entire place is crackling, static waves disrupting the flow of white. Everything flickers, dims. There's a shrill ringing in her ears, something echoing dimly below the threshold of her hearing range that she nevertheless feels bouncing against the bottom of her skull. 

The shaking has grown more pronounced, a full-blown groundquake that sends her off balance, trying to crawl to something solid inside the office. Then the ground drops out from beneath her altogether and she screams a scream swallowed up by that stifling emptiness, nothing to even mark her passing as she falls without falling, just a hard swoop in her stomach and a lack of anything solid underneath her telling her she's dropping fast. 

Her body slams hard into something and she jolts, eyes opening to blackness. There's something covering her face, little tugs all over her body as she tries to move. 

"Clarke?" a voice asks, sounding tinny and distant.

Her body feels sluggish all of a sudden, completely unable to move. She groans, trying to move her head. The blackness wipes away as the mask over her face is removed, revealing a dimly-lit room that looks like any one of the hundreds of houses in Polis. Crumbling concrete walls, patched roof. The bed underneath her is covered in some kind of coarse blanket. 

"Clarke?" The voice registers with her, sounding familiar. She blinks, trying to bring the world into focus. A face leans into her field of vision, coming close to her as if trying to make sure she's alive. Familiar eyes, dark hair in braids, a generous mouth turned down in worry.

"Lexa?" Clarke whispers, her voice hoarse from disuse. Her eyes roll up in the back of her head, her body still groggy and trying to wake up from whatever sedative Jaha used to keep her out. 

"Can you walk?" asks Lexa.

Clarke can barely get a handle on where she is, much less figure out what her body can and can't do. She tries to flex the muscles in her legs and feels an answering twinge. "Think so," she slurs. But as soon as she tries to swing her body out of bed she cries out, pins and needles surging along every nerve. The only thing that keeps her from collapsing is Lexa catching her, pulling Clarke's arm around her neck and bracing her upright. She starts walking, half-dragging Clarke with her, until they emerge in the sunlight.

Guards are there, and a stretcher for Clarke. Lexa lowers her gently and Clarke can finally see that her face is splashed with blood. Red, not hers. "What happened?" she asks, trying to fight against the healer pushing her down. 

Lexa's face is composed once again, the worry from inside the house masked with control. "Soon, Clarke. Go with the healers. There are still people we must find and capture."

Clarke can't even make her legs function properly enough to get her off the stretcher so she gives in, letting her body fall back, not taking her eyes off Lexa barking orders to her guards as she's carried back to the tower.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story now begins serious divergence from canon, starting around 3x05/3x06.

Clarke passes out not long after they bring her back to her bedroom. Days of unconsciousness combined with the remnants of the drugs in her system send her sinking into a deep sleep - but for once it's a real, healthy, healing sleep. She blacks out and does not dream.

When she wakes up in the dark her hand automatically reaches out for Lexa. But the soft fur, the sounds of guards outside, the concrete walls of Polis all bring her back to reality - she's not in the City of Light. 

But she still half expects to find Lexa beside her in their bed, in their apartment. There are two sets of memories inside of her and they both feel equally real - one where Lexa is in the kitchen making dinner, and one where Lexa mostly leaves her to her own devices in Polis unless Clarke comes to her.

As the initial spike of adrenaline fades, other sensations start to creep in. Her body feels weak after lying still for four days - she assumes four days, but Jaha could have lied. There's a sharp little bite at the crook of her elbow and she touches it with her hand, finding a puncture from the IV they must have used to keep her sedated. A matching wound on the other elbow crease, maybe for an IV to keep her hydrated. There are a few other little abrasions on her face that feel like they were created through chafing, perhaps whatever was on her face. 

She feels empty and used and so, so angry. 

It takes a few tries, but eventually she manages to slide her legs from under the blankets and get her feet on the cold floor. She likes how the temperature prickles at her skin, the slight discomfort making her feel present. Standing takes a few tries, but eventually she gets up and stays up. It's depressing how weak she feels after only a few days without movement.

She shuffles around her room, getting used to the interplay of her muscles again. By her memories it wasn't so long ago she was with Lexa listening to a worrisome report about agitators in Polis, people going missing. But it was also years ago, years and years separating that moment in her personal timeline from this one. When she looks in the mirror she's surprised by how young her own face appears, lined by worry but not by age.

Someone knocks on her door and she calls out for them to enter, not quite up to walking over just yet. 

Lexa slips in and Clarke can't help but compare her to the image that comes first to her now when thinking of Lexa: smiling, happy to be in love with Clarke, always with a kind look or a soft touch. This Lexa is still in her shoulder guard, streaked with grime, a smear of blood left where she hastily scrubbed it off. She looks exhausted and angry, though her expression brightens at the sight of Clarke on her feet.

"How do you feel?" Lexa asks. 

Clarke shrugs. "Where have you been?"

Lexa doesn't come any farther into the room, staying just a step inside of the door. "Clearing out the last of the agitators and releasing the captured." 

Clarke can see how tired she is, listing slightly to her left, perhaps favoring that leg. "Come in, sit down." She shuffles over to the chairs and lowers herself into the chair facing the doorway, already glad to be off her feet. She can still feel the last of the drugs plucking at her, wanting her to close her eyes. They must have been powerful to keep her completely sedated and unaware for days.

Lexa sits opposite her, nearly collapsing onto the chair without most of her usual grace. 

"What happened while I was out?" Clarke asks.

The sigh Lexa releases is so weary, so all-encompassing, that it almost tells Clarke the whole story. "You don't remember being taken?"

Clarke grimaces. "Just flashes. I remember being forced to go under, but not much else."

"There were reports that Skaikru were in Polis, building an insurgency to take over the city. You went to investigate a sighting and disappeared. That was five days ago. I - we have been searching for you since then, as well as missing citizens of Polis." Lexa seems to examine Clarke, not unlike the long, clinical gaze she would get from her mom during a medical checkup. "Jaha sneaked into the city. He was indoctrinating people, luring them to the City of Light."

"What is the City of Light?" Clarke interrupts. "I was there, I guess, but..." She can barely explain to herself, let alone someone else.

"You may ask Jaha yourself," Lexa says with grim satisfaction. "We captured him alive."

Clarke feels a stab of uncharitable satisfaction at the image of Jaha rotting in an uncomfortable cell. "How did you find me?"

"We have been searching Polis house by house. You and the others were well-hidden and we believe they were moving you to different locations. I'm sorry it took us so long to find you, Clarke." 

"You've just been going door to door? Through the whole city?" Clarke has wandered her fair share of Polis and hasn't even come close to familiarizing herself with half of it. 

"Yes," Lexa says, the incredible effort of those days reflected in how heavy the syllable weighs on her tongue. "Fortunately someone saw you being moved early this morning and informed my guards. We have been rooting out Jaha's co-conspirators. I fear more may remain in Polis but for now there is peace."

Clarke doesn't like the way Lexa says "for now," but Polis is Lexa's city, and she knows best how to secure it. "What about the City of Light? It seems like it was one big virtual reality. Did Jaha have any technology with him?"

"Yes. We have that in custody as well. Perhaps...you could call for someone from Skaikru who understands such things?" 

Tensions between Skaikru and the coalition are still high, so Clarke understands the level of trust implicit in what Lexa is asking. "Of course. I'll go to Arkadia in the morning."

"You should know that some Skaikru are in the city. They came to warn us about Jaha."

Clarke can barely let herself hope. "Who?" 

"Your mother and Octavia and some guards."

Clarke pushes herself upright. "My mom, where-"

"The next room," Lexa says reassuringly. "She tended you for most of the day. She's sleeping now, or I would have taken you directly to her. She didn't sleep much while we searched for you."

Clarke sits back, processing this new information. "So Skaikru came to warn you? The problem started in Arkadia?"

"It seems that way." Lexa's mouth twitches, and then she lets out a yawn, immediately covering it up and looking away in embarrassment. 

"How long has it been since you slept?" Clarke asks. She can't help but compare Lexa's tired face now to the bruised eyes and drooping mouth she remembers from the City of Light.

"Some time," Lexa admits. "You must be tired as well."

Clarke shrugs again. "I've slept for four days. I kind of don't feel like closing my eyes for a while."

"If you wish, I can have tea brought to you. To help you stay awake," Lexa offers.

"I'd like that. Thank you." Clarke feels awkward being so formal and polite. Her Lexa would have made the tea already in her quiet, perceptive way. But there was never a _her Lexa_. She feels guilty over something she can't control, and that just stokes her ill-will towards Jaha even further. 

Lexa stands up. "I'll leave you to...readjust, then. Good night, Clarke."

Clarke walks her to the door. "Night, Lexa," she says, already a bit preoccupied with what exactly she's going to ask Jaha. And then, out of sheer muscle memory, she leans in to peck Lexa on the lips. Her eyes go wide as she pulls back, realizing what she just did. Lexa is even more startled than her, rooted to the spot, mouth forming a tiny o. 

"Oh my god I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Clarke stammers. She rips herself away from Lexa, taking a few steps back, hands flying to her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I just wasn't - I wasn't thinking. It just happened. I'm sorry."

Lexa swallows, clearly uncomfortable. "It's all right, Clarke. Good night." She slips out looking bewildered and Clarke wants to call her back and explain everything but that would probably be even more mortifying for them both. 

It was just what came naturally, like walking Lexa to the door before she left for work in the mornings. It's a habit formed after years of quick goodbye kisses, years that _never happened_ and Clarke slaps her hand against her thigh in frustration. If Jaha thought it was kindness to give her a perfect life, he didn't stop to think how cruel it would be for her to lose it. She lies back down on her bed, on top of the covers, and tries not to mourn a life she never had.

*

The tea Lexa promised gives her enough of a kick to carry her through until sunrise. She spends most of that time reading one of the books Lexa lent her before she was abducted, an adventure book about a girl with mysterious powers. She wonders if Lexa read this when she was younger, huddled by the candles, dreaming of saving her people with her strength. 

It's barely sun up when her mom pokes her head around the door, clearly not expecting her to be awake. Her entire face slackens with relief. "Clarke," she says, coming all the way in and leaning over to hug Clarke where she sits in her chair.

Clarke doesn't say anything, just enjoys her mom holding her, stroking her hair a few times. 

Abby sinks into the other chair, face lined with exhaustion. "When did you wake up?"

"I don't know. A while ago. Lexa said you were asleep."

Abby's eyes close briefly. "Lexa," she says, sighing. "If she hadn't believed us about Jaha..."

Clarke can only imagine what Lexa might have done with her people disappearing and no ready culprit but the sudden appearance of Skaikru in her city. "How did you know Jaha was coming here?" she asks, and feels a little stab of guilt at once again being so disconnected from her people. She doesn't know what's going on in Arkadia these days, doesn't know what her friends are doing or how her mom is getting along. She just worries about them and hopes for word from within or the Trikru scouts that watch the camp.

"Marcus kicked him out," says Abby, her with a grimace. "When he found out how many people Thelonious has roped into whatever he's doing, he banished him from Arkadia. There wasn't much else he could do, short of imprisoning them, and we can't put people in jail for choosing to believe something."

They share a dark look, each knowing that the other is thinking of Pike's followers. At the very least, Kane is once again in charge of Arkadia and the cost could have been worse. 

"I thought it was for the best to follow him. He left some people in rough condition, the ones who didn't go with him." Abby focuses on Clarke's eyes. "Raven't didn't deal well with whatever he's handing out."

Clarke leans forward. "Raven? Is she okay? What did he do to her?"

"She's okay now," Abby says, but with a clear undertone that tells Clarke it was rough. "But whatever Jaha is doing to people, their bodies really don't like it when he stops."

Clarke tries to reconcile this with what Jaha told her and her experience leaving the City of Light. "Why am I fine then?" she wonders.

"You were in the City of Light the whole time you were under?" Abby asks, and Clarke can see how she itches to work up a full chart on her, maybe run her through some diagnostic machines, then keep her in bed for a few more days. 

"Yes. Sort of. The way Jaha put it, I was being kept isolated from the others. He said they would try to integrate me into the real city later." 

"Isolated," Abby repeats. "Like you were being held?"

"Essentially," Clarke says, not quite up to telling her mom everything. That she saw her father again, that he and her mom were so happy and still in love. That she looks at her mom and wants to ask "Where's dad?" as if he could just pop by in the next fifteen minutes. 

"Octavia came with us," Abby says. "She volunteered to come. I think she just wants to be away from Arkadia for a while."

The guilt intensifies.

"Polis is good for her," Abby says, voice softer, perhaps seeing the hurt playing around Clarke's mouth. "She's thriving here. Indra's teaching her again."

"Good. That's good," Clarke says. 

Her stomach grumbles, wanting something solid after so long on intravenous nutrients. She doesn't even want to think about other bodily needs that Jaha might have had his people attend while she was out.

"Should I tell the kitchen staff to bring us something?" Abby asks, smiling.

"I kind of feel like stretching my legs. We could go down to the food stalls," Clarke says, smiling back. A moment to show off Polis to her mom sounds nice.

Abby's smile fades slightly. "I'm not sure about leaving the tower, honey. The city is pretty tense. Lexa still has it mostly on lockdown."

"Oh." Clarke slumps in her chair, feeling even more uninformed. At least she used to know what was happening in Polis. It's been less than a week and she's missed so much. 

"The food here is pretty good," Abby says, trying to get Clarke to perk up. "Lexa's treated us well."

Clarke can't even think about Lexa, what she did last night, the full blush on Lexa's face when she left. She tries not to squirm, knowing her mother will pick up on it right away. "I'm glad."

"Mm hmm." Abby seems to pick up whatever Clarke is trying to hold back anyway, if the slight narrowing of her eyes is any indication. Thankfully, she's still inclined to tread carefully around Clarke and lets her lapse into silence while she goes to the door to ask someone to send for food.

Clarke can hear the city waking, even this far up. Lockdown or not, there are peddlers in the market hawking last night's unsold wares, fresh-baked bread, anything and everything you could wish to find in a market, and their voices carry very faintly through Clarke's window. She can hear the faint grinding in the walls that tells her the elevator is running, and the shuffle of multiple feet on concrete that signals servants, as opposed to the heavy clomp of guards.

If she closes her eyes, it does feel distantly familiar. She can remember the rhythms of Polis, the way morning light filters through her curtains, the smell of the fish stalls in the market, the cracked tile underfoot in Lexa's throne room. But she has to dig for it, pulling it out from under her years in the City of Light. It's been less than a week, but from her perspective she was gone for much, much longer.

She's distant all through breakfast, even though the food is good and she's ravenous and she knows her mom has questions. Lexa doesn't come to see her, and she misses their old breakfast routine with a visceral ache, wanting nothing more than a bowl of fruit framed with a few flower petals. 

"What's next?" Abby asks.

Clarke pushes away her plate. "Now we go talk to Jaha."

*

A guard makes Clarke wait while he goes to fetch Lexa; no one is to speak the prisoner without Lexa present.

Jaha is being kept five floors below, chained to a wall in a bare room with guards watching him carefully at all times. Clarke takes a moment to observe him in silence through the barred window in the reinforced door, Lexa and her mother flanking her. 

"We captured him close to where you were found," Lexa quietly tells Clarke. "He was attempting to leave the city. He has not said anything since we put him in here."

"I need to talk to him. By myself," Clarke says, fixated on how calmly he kneels in the floor, eyes closed, face serene.

"Clarke, maybe one of us-" Abby begins, but Lexa just nods at the guards in the room to leave.

"We'll remain here," Lexa says, indicating a spot where they can hear but not be seen.

That'll have to be good enough, so Clarke nods too and enters, standing just far enough from Jaha to be out of reach of his chains. 

"Thank you for coming to see me, Clarke," says Jaha, his eyes slowly opening.

"Let's get one thing clear," Clarke snarls at him. "This isn't a conversation. It's an interrogation. You were so ready to answer all my questions in the City of Light - well you're gonna answer the rest right now."

"Of course. I have nothing to hide," Jaha says, his hands opening palms-up on his lap like a book.

"Then why were you hiding me? Moving my body around so I couldn't be found?" Clarke asks.

"I didn't mean for you to experience it that way. The City of Light is meant for those who willingly accept it. One of my followers was...overzealous. But it was the perfect opportunity to show you the hope that I offer," says Jaha. "Clarke, the City of Light is this world's best hope for peace. Without pain, without suffering, everyone is free."

"It's. Not. Real," Clarke grits through her teeth.

"Why?" 

Clarke blinks. "What do mean why? It's not _real_. It's made up. In your head."

"You were still you. You still chose the direction of your life. Just because your body wasn't physically doing things doesn't mean it wasn't real. You still experienced it. Isn't that real?"

"I chose? I chose nothing. You _abducted_ me, Thelonious. Stole me and sedated me against my will. Wiped my memories and gave me..." She's mindful of who is listening and bites off the rest of her sentence. 

"Gave you paradise," he says, somehow not sounding that smug about it. Just more of that damned serenity.

"Did you stop to think what it would be like when I had to leave paradise?" she hisses, leaning closer. "You must have known they would look for me."

"I knew. And I hoped by then you would realize the truth: existence is what you make of it. Are your feelings less real, less worthy of acknowledgment, because of the way you experienced them?" 

Clarke leans back, disgusted. "We have to exist in this world, not whatever fantasy you're selling. What were your plans in Polis?"

"To ask people to join me in the City of Light. That's all." Jaha ticks one eyebrow up. "I did not come here planning a coup. I'm sorry you were caught up in things, but I ask that you consider whether you were happier there or happier here. Imagine if everyone could feel that happiness, that freedom from want."

Clarke stares hard at him, then crouches down so that they're at eye level. She lowers her voice so that it won't carry. "I'm your last hope, Thelonious. After I leave, those guards are going to come back in here, and they're going to beat you. They're probably going to kill you, eventually. You and I both know there's more going on here. So tell me what you and Alie have planned and spare yourself real pain."

It's the wrong approach and she knows it as soon as she says it. Jaha's small smile is all the answer she receives and she knows he'll endure any beating, any torture, and die with that same smile on his face. She pushes off with her hands braced against her knees and stands straight, examining Jaha one last time. 

"You are always welcome in the City of Light," Jaha says. "The city is always with us."

Clarke turns away from him and leaves the room, joining the others in the hallway. She shakes her head and the guards file back in, resuming their posts.

"What did he mean by he gave you paradise?" her mom asks.

"Later," says Clarke, trying not to flick her eyes towards Lexa.

"He will not talk," Lexa says, a statement instead of a question. 

"He won't break either," Clarke says.

"Everyone breaks," Lexa says, the very neutrality of her tone enough to tell Clarke how she came to believe such. "But from what, and when, is different for us all. I don't think Jaha will give us the answers we need by the time we need them."

"So now what?" asks Abby, looking between them both.

"Now you get Monty from Arkadia to Polis," says Clarke. "Jaha's got secrets, and we're going to find them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is being posted the day after 3x07, and I am tired. I am so very tired of queer women and their relationships with other women being destroyed. I hope you enjoy the rest of this story - for me, it'll be one of the methods I use to cope with what happened.


	8. Chapter 8

The device they found with Jaha is completely foreign to Clarke. She can tell there are circuits and a power source and that's about it. Even with proper diagnostic tools she'd be more worried about blowing it up than actually figuring it out. But she has no doubt it's the key to everything.

Octavia is already on her way back to Arkadia on the fastest horse in Polis, accompanied by Indra. Abby stays, though, unwilling to be separated from her daughter and wanting to examine the people they were able to separate from Jaha.

Clarke won't call it _rescuing_ , exactly, because many of the freed have demanded to return to Jaha and the City of Light. They're being kept in a separate ward away from the tower, reluctantly chained up as well after several them attempted to escape and free Jaha.

"They speak of this city of light as though it were real," Lexa says, watching from the doorway as Abby makes her rounds, writing down vital signs and asking each patient a few questions.

"It's...it's like a dream, but it feels real," Clarke says, watching Lexa look at her people, something simmering just under the surface. This Lexa - the real Lexa, she has to constantly remind herself - is full of rage for the mistreatment of her people, murderously furious with Jaha and swallowing it down while they still need him alive. She might wear a bland face but Clarke can still see the slight clench of her jaw, the stiffness in her neck. It's so completely different from her Lexa who never really fought-

"Jaha said it was paradise," says Lexa. "If he is offering my people paradise, it's understandable why they resist returning to their real lives."

"It wasn't really," Clarke says, trying to convince Lexa. Convincing herself. "It was just...a place with no problems."

"Is that not paradise?" Lexa asks, finally turning her face towards Clarke with one eyebrow ticking up. If she's feeling awkward about being this close to Clarke after the kiss, she isn't showing it.

"No, that's just...easy." Clarke remembers the smooth glide of days into days, how things only really became distinguishable once she started having her nightmares. "There's no one to challenge you. Everyone just goes along with everything. You never have to confront anything." 

"Perhaps for those who wish to return, the challenges they were asked to confront in this life were overwhelming." 

Clarke is struggling, trying to get Lexa to see, to agree, to stop sounding so understanding of a world without complication. "But it wasn't real. There was no... _definition_ there."

"Do you define yourself by your struggles, Clarke?" Lexa asks, so very gently. Like someone who understands if the answer is yes.

"I can't escape what my struggles have made me," Clarke says. Her eyes drop to the floor. "I don't deserve that."

Lexa goes quiet, once again looking over the room of people, some lamenting quietly, others glaring hate at Abby and the guards. "You are the most deserving person I know, Clarke. You give everything of yourself and take nothing in return."

This Lexa, who so carefully handles her feelings, is so familiar that Clarke has to swallow a surge of memories rising like a fog around her heart. 

"You told me yourself that we deserve more than the bare demands of our circumstances," Lexa says. "And you were right."

Abby starts walking towards them, down the center aisle between the mats on the floor, leaving Clarke with no chance to answer. "Physically they're all improving," Abby says. "But mentally, emotionally..."

"It's almost like they're addicted," Clarke says.

"That's probably an accurate assessment, but without the diagnostic tools we have in Arkadia, the best I can do is pain management and the basics I remember from my psych rotation." Abby looks like she wants to heave an enormous sigh, but squares up her shoulders instead. "Checkup time," she tells Clarke.

"Mom, I feel fine," Clarke says, and means it. She's still a little wobbly from four days of total inactivity but physically she's making it through the day without much of a problem. 

"Humor a worried mom who hasn't seen her daughter in a while?" Abby says, and Clarke really can't say no to that. 

"I have matters I must attend to," Lexa says, her way of giving them privacy, and she sweeps away with her guards in tow, Clarke wishing she could go with her.

*

Normally with one of the solar-powered rovers from Arkadia it would be a quick day trip to and from Polis, but Jaha had left on foot so they'd followed him on foot in case he went somewhere a vehicle couldn't follow. It'll be a couple of days before Octavia and Indra return, and Clarke resolves to try and gather as much information as she can while they're gone.

She only lasts half an hour trying to talk to him before she loses her temper. He answers what he feels like answering and sits calmly for the rest of it.

Lexa doesn't even bother.

"You're wondering how I know he won't break," she says, watching Clarke frown at her dinner plate and push her food around. She'd invited Clarke and Abby to eat with her, wanting to debrief them both. Clarke misses the chicken risotto Lexa used to make when she was feeling a little emptied out by work. 

"Just...trying to think of a way to reach him," Clarke says.

It's only the two of them now; Abby finished eating already and went to her room to review her notes. Clarke wonders if she's uncomfortable around Lexa and can't exactly blame her, even if Lexa has been nothing but hospitable. But she still half expected the two of them to go off on their own after dinner, teasing Clarke goodnaturedly about Abby liking Lexa better. Lexa had so much in common with both her parents in the City of Light and a pang echoes inside her heart to realize that Lexa reminds her of her father now too.

And now they're stuck by themselves, Clarke not wanting to look like she doesn't want to be alone with Lexa, trying to gauge if Lexa feels the same. Some things she can spot easily, these days, and some things are so different from what she remembers. Lexa is inscrutable tonight, calmly and methodically eating her dinner.

"Your anger hasn't worked, and neither has your mother's compassion. He is beyond reason," Lexa says. She hesitates, perhaps knowing that to reveal the next part of her knowledge is to further taint herself in Clarke's eyes. Perhaps she is simply not proud of the things she has done for her people. "I have found," she adds softly, "That for some, pain is an abstract concept. They can't be broken because they can't feel. They retreat inside their own minds, the way Jaha retreats to his city."

Clarke feels the beginnings of an idea tickling at her brain and tries to hold on to it. "He probably does go to the City of Light," she muses. "The way he talks about it, and the way he interacted with me, it seems like he can move freely back and forth."

"But his followers cannot," Lexa says.

"No, they can't." Clarke latches onto the only difference she can see between Jaha and his followers. "They're being kept in the sick ward away from the tower. Jaha is up here." She leans forward over the edge of the table. " _With his device._ "

"We've kept them separate," Lexa says, not quite at the same conclusion.

"Yes but only by a few rooms," says Clarke. "And we haven't tried to depower the device because we don't know what it is. I mean clearly it's important to him and it does something complicated. But he can still go into the City of Light while his followers can't. It must have a limited wireless range." She's standing up, scraping her chair legs against the floor in her haste.

"Clarke where are-"

"Come with me. I have an idea," Clarke says over her shoulder, already moving as fast as she can for the stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator. She can hear Lexa calling for her to be careful and she nearly pitches headfirst around the corner of the next-to-last landing but a strong hand grabs the back of her shirt just in time.

Lexa sets her firmly on her feet, the darting of her eyes the only thing to give away her worry. Her hand hovers at Clarke's waist.

"Thanks," Clarke says, slightly breathless from rushing. Her instinct once again is to dart forward and press a quick kiss to Lexa's lips, one of a dozen careless gestures she used to throw off on any given day. But she remembers Lexa's reaction at her door and controls herself, continuing on past Jaha's cell, down a few more rooms to a chamber where his belongings are under guard. 

Clarke picks up the backpack with a cursory examination, slips one arm through the straps. "Let us know how long after we're gone it takes for anything to change," she tells the guards watching Jaha. They look to Lexa, who nods in confirmation.

Together, they take the elevator all the way to the ground floor, and then Clarke starts walking away from the tower, in the opposite direction of the sick ward. There are still people out on the streets, a few stray vendors closing up their stalls, and they all make way for heda and her guards. Clarke takes them almost to the edge of Polis itself and then turns to look back at the tower. "That should be far enough, based on the people in the ward not being able to access the city."

Lexa seems to understand now, and just lets Clarke carry on with her experiment, instructing the guards to keep the backpack hidden here, then keeping pace with Clarke back to the tower, back up to Jaha's floor. 

They find him pacing, using the limited space afforded him by his chains, and Clarke instantly feels a little bell of victory ring in her gut. "It worked," she whispers to Lexa. 

"How long?" Lexa asks the guards.

"Not long, heda," says one. "Ten minutes, perhaps less."

Clarke calculates in her head. Polis' elevator is faster on the descent, but still takes several minutes to get from top to bottom. Then another five minute walk away from the tower, and that's about the same distance as the sick ward. 

She and Lexa exchange looks. "Now, he will break," Lexa says. 

A bloodthirsty little voice inside of Clarke, the one that still howls at the loss of her imaginary life, rejoices. But on the surface she remains calm. "Now he knows he can be broken," she says. "And that's all we need."

*

The backpack goes to a more secure location away from the tower. 

Clarke watches Jaha carefully, noting how his calmness seems forced, just a veneer over his agitation. It's quite late as well, and even though he's not that active, he must be feeling the need to sleep by now. She enters the cell as loudly as possible.

"Let's talk," she says, dragging over one of the chairs on the opposite side of the room. Lexa remains outside, listening from around the corner.

"Of course," says Jaha, but she can see how his eyes squint slightly, trying to hide the stress.

"Tell me why I don't feel any withdrawal from the City of Light," she asks, returning to her direct approach. Her past attempts at coming at him through innocuous questions all dead-ended. 

"Clarke, the City of Light is not something you get addicted to-"

"The people we pulled out," she interrupts, "Are all suffering withdrawal symptoms. I'm not. Explain."

Jaha seems slightly irked at being cut off. "You're special, Clarke."

She wants to roll her eyes. "How. How am I special."

"It's not something that I-"

"Stop lying."

"Clarke, you are different from the others-"

Clarke barks at him, almost yelling, her voice bouncing off the walls. " _Stop. Lying._

"I am not lying to you Clarke," he insists, his voice sharper than it's ever been since she started questioning him. 

"You're not telling me the truth."

Jaha tries to close his eyes, body falling into his meditative position, but she snaps in his face until he opens them again. For twenty minutes he resists and every time she interrupts or dismisses his non-answer, backing him into corners that he can't escape without the backpack in range. Finally, she claps forcefully, close enough to his nose to be more than aggravating.

"Wake up," she says. "You're not some kind of martyr here. You're a fraud and a liar and a kidnapper. Now tell me why I'm different from the others."

His teeth grit. "You resisted. I wasn't going to force you to accept the key to the city. So you were sedated instead."

"To keep me out of the way," Clarke sneers.

"No, to show you how the City of Light can help you, can help us all," he insists.

"But making sure I couldn't disrupt your plans was a nice bonus," she says knowingly. "So now tell me this. What would you do if we just let you go?"

Jaha's smile is cynically amused. "You know what I would do. And I know you are not going to let me go, Clarke."

She stares at him, not bothering to hide her agreement. "At least you're starting to be honest with me. So take the next step, Thelonious. Start being honest with yourself. The City of Light is a fantasy, one that I never accepted."

"Have you considered why that might be, Clarke?" he asks. 

"Because it wasn't real," she says, although she knows she risks sending him off on another one of his what-is-real tangents.

"How did your mind know it wasn't real, though? Was it not real enough? Was it too real? Was it real in the wrong way?"

Clarke can see that he's started to control the conversation again, so she gets up from her chair and pushes it back to its place against the wall. "Try and get some sleep, Thelonius," she says, leaving him without looking at him. "You're gonna need it."


	9. Chapter 9

Clarke can't stop circling Jaha's questions. He seemed certain that he'd caught her out, somehow turning the focus back on her. 

_How did your mind know it wasn't real?_

She has assumed until now that her subconscious simply knew it was all a lie. It suited her ego, she can admit to herself, to believe that her own mind was just that strong. She spends most of the night rolling around in bed, trying to get comfortable but also wary of falling asleep. She ends up napping in fits, body jolting awake each time she dozes off.

She can tell her mother is doing her best not to watch her while they eat breakfast. Monty is due to arrive in Polis late tonight and Clarke wants to focus on that instead, but it's hard with her mom studying her between every bite.

"Mom, I'm fine," she says for the third time this morning. She's lost track of how much she's said it since she woke up. She knows it's hard to pretend she's fine when the skin under her eyes is smudged with exhaustion.

"Maybe you are. I'm not going to stop worrying," Abby says with a small smile. She watches as Clarke sops up the last of her eggs with the crusty bread she asks for from the kitchen every chance she gets. "At least your appetite is good."

"Come on, tell me the food here isn't literally the best food on earth," says Clarke. She's still a little overwhelmed at the sheer variety of food available in the city and has probably been indulging more than she should after months of scrounging in the woods. Even Mount Weather was constrained by their limited supplies and their hydroponic gardens; in Polis someone is always cooking something new, something interesting to attract customers. She wonders if Alie used her memories of the food here to fill in for the tastes in the City of Light. How could her brain know what a real steak tastes like? Or fine wine or sugary candies or the burritos from the food stand outside of Lexa's office? 

Abby just makes an agreeable sound and continues to work on her smoked fish. "I have rounds," she says after a few minutes, starting to clear away her plate.

"Mom," Clarke says, stopping her from getting up for a moment. "What do you think about setting up a clinic in Polis? Maybe training some of their healers?"

Abby looks surprised at the notion itself, and that Clarke has been considering it. But then she smiles. "I think that would be nice."

Clarke smiles back, enjoying the feeling of connecting with her mom again. The clinic idea was brewing before she got kidnapped; it's time for their worlds to start overlapping more, and healing is something they definitely have in common. With her mom's support she's sure she can get Kane to agree. 

"What are you doing while we wait for Monty?" her mom asks. 

"Now that I'm back on my feet, I have to sit in on the council meetings again," Clarke says. "The ambassador of the thirteenth clan can't slack off anymore."

Abby's face shifts into something inscrutable. "Clarke, if you ever wanted to come home, you know we could find someone else to act as ambassador."

"Someone who could get the same results I do?" Clarke asks, hating to make it about _results_ when there's so much more that goes into it. From her expression, her mom knows that too and thankfully doesn't point out everything Clarke isn't saying.

"Have a good day," Abby says instead. She drops a kiss on top of Clarke's head and squeezes her shoulder for a long while, still overly affectionate in the wake of the kidnapping.

"You too," Clarke says. When her mom is gone, she stacks their plates where the servants can easily gather them, then pulls on one of her nicer jackets. She wants to feel confident on her first day back, over a week after the other ambassadors last saw her. 

She remembers the day Lexa gave the jacket to her, along with a trunk full of other clothes. She hadn't personally dropped it off, but Clarke knew it was from her. At the time she was still angry and Lexa was still keeping her distance; a pair of handmaidens had opened the trunk and started pulling out the clothes, trying to get her to approve an outfit.

She brushes her hands down the camel-colored leather, still wondering how it stayed so supple and soft over the years. Someone must have taken care of it, worn it so cautiously that there aren't even any tears. Everything in this world has descended to them from someone else and Clarke thinks about how her apartment with Lexa was entirely new, just for them. Maybe worn around the edges from use, witness to years of their lives, but still only ever belonging to them. 

There's no them. There never was. There was no apartment with the deep scuff in the doorframe from moving in furniture, no chair in the living room where Clarke always draped her jacket instead of hanging it up, no clean facewash smell on the pillow she would inevitably steal from Lexa.

Abruptly, she turns away from her closet and leaves, headed up to the throne room for the usual morning meeting. About half the other ambassadors are already there, milling around and exchanging small talk in trigedasleng when she enters. She can see their eyes flicking to her, surprise and suspicion in scattered pockets. 

"It's good to see you on your feet," says Tara, the Boat People ambassador. Clarke is still wary of her; she did participate in the attempted coup, after all, but of all the ambassadors she's also the only one who's reached out to Clarke. They all treat wanheda with a certain amount of deference, but Tara has also asked her questions about her life before Polis, what it was like living in the sky, things that have no tactical value. She's just curious.

"Mochof," Clarke says with some warmth, and takes her seat.

The rest of the ambassadors trickle in; she logs how each of them flick their eyes towards her, whether they look surprised or relieved or resentful. 

Then the little silence that tends to descend over them as they sense Lexa approaching. Clarke tries not to jiggle her leg. Other than dealing with official matters, Lexa has kept her distance since Clarke kissed her, and Clarke has let her. 

The doors open and Titus calls for them to rise. They give the usual call and response - Clarke has noticed that the new Azgeda ambassador, Kebbe, is much less recalcitrant than his predecessor. As far as she knows, he is firmly loyal to Roan, which means he's also loyal to Lexa, and that's all Clarke needs from him.

Lexa doesn't so much as look at Clarke as she takes her throne. 

"What news of those taken by the Skaikru?" asks Baram, the Lake People ambassador. Of all of them he was closest to the old Azgeda ambassador, Clarke learned when Lexa was giving her a lesson on her fellow council members. 

"They continue to recover with the help of Abby kom Skaikru," Lexa says, making sure they all know who is taking care of their people. "The Skaikru traitor will soon face justice."

"What justice?" Baram asks. "He still lives."

From the sound of it, Lexa has been dealing with this exact complaint the entire time Clarke was gone. "Because he still has information that may be useful. He has access to technology beyond what the maunon possessed. We must ensure such can never be used against our people again."

They all quiet at the mention of _maunon_. That word still evokes a deep, generational fear that Clarke can feel like a shiver going around the room. 

But then: "If he is so dangerous, why do you not drag the information out of him?" Baram demands.

Lexa pierces him with her stare until he settles somewhat in his chair. "Just because I have not does not mean I will not. At the moment, he is more valuable to us physically unharmed. Does this satisfy you?" Her tone makes it clear what the answer should be.

Baram mutters something conciliatory.

Titus keeps them moving towards other issues: trade blockages, village repairs, scouting reports from their borders. Clarke gathers that the others find it tedious but for her, it's her education on this enormous new world, and she absorbs as much as she can so she can bring it back to her people. It amazes her that they ever thought they could just expand freely without even knowing the extent of the inhabited territories around them, without a map of the world as it exists.

The meeting ends in fairly short order, as many of them tend to do when they don't have pressing issues. That too was a surprise for Clarke, that something like bureaucratic routine could exist in Lexa's world. Clarke's world too, now.

As she stands up to leave, she sees Lexa go to the balcony, hands folded behind her back. Lexa stands there often, looking upon her city, the green forests and mountains beyond, but today all Clarke can see is the tension in her shoulders, visible even under her shoulder guard and drape. She edges past the guards and waits a few steps behind Lexa, clearing her throat to make sure her presence isn't a surprise. 

"Clarke. Is there something you need?" Lexa asks without turning around.

"Just...wanted to check in with you," she says clumsily. She can feel her nerves fluctuating, urging her one moment to just speak her piece and the next to take the opening for an exit.

"Are you all right?" Lexa asks, angling her body, face starting to show a hint of concern.

"No, I'm fine. Um." Clarke thought she would be able to see Lexa's face and just - know. She would know the way she knew her Lexa, the way she could hear Lexa walking through the apartment door and know whether she had an easy day or a hard day. 

"Does your mother require anything?"

"No." Clarke slides her hands into her jacket pockets. Warm as it is, this far up the wind nips a little bit. She steps a little closer, lowers her voice. "I just wanted to apologize. For the other night. I don't want it to make things awkward between us."

Lexa turns back towards the view, eyes scanning blankly. "You have nothing to apologize for, Clarke. I understand things were...strange for you in the City of Light."

Clarke's expression turns into a wry grimace. "Yeah." 

Lexa is quiet for a few more moments. "If you wanted to talk about it."

Clarke has desperately needed to talk about it, but not to to her mom, and definitely not to Lexa. Still, she feels touched by the offer. "Maybe," she says. "Thank you."

Lexa nods shortly. "Was there anything else?" she asks, but not impatiently, just in a soft voice that makes it clear she really does want to know if Clarke needs anything.

Clarke wants to think of something. She likes standing up here in the quiet, just the two of them, looking over Polis and the lands beyond. It's beautiful and peaceful and she can imagine for a little while that they're alone. If Clarke favored the beach, Lexa took more to the woods and national parks-

Clarke backs away abruptly, realizing how easily she slipped into thinking of _her_ Lexa. That world always seems just under her skin, waiting for her, waiting for her to want it and need it enough to return. "I'm going to go find my mom. Show her the city."

She doesn't wait to see if Lexa responds, leaving behind the throne room and the lingering feeling of loss in her heart.

*

Monty arrives in the night, escorted directly to the secure location for Jaha's backpack by Octavia and Indra. Even by torchlight the city looks huge and the tower always looms overhead, its giant flame on top a beacon calling the clans home. He keeps swiveling his head, staring at everything, trying to take in the enormity of Polis and just how different everything here is from the villages in the woods. 

"Monty!" she says, jumping up from her chair to hug him. Behind her, Lexa stands straight and formal by the wall, keeping a low profile. She knows the Sky People still fear and distrust her to an extent and hadn't had to ask Clarke if she needed to hang back.

Monty barely returns her hug, still distracted by everything, staring at the room and the guards and the furniture scattered around and definitely staring at Lexa but pretending not to. Arkadia might not be as run down, but the sheer amount of space on offer in Polis is stunning. 

"Yeah, I know it's a bit much to take in all at once," Clarke says. "Someday I'll tell you how I ended up here. Right now do you think you have the energy to take a look at something?"

Clarke knows how long a journey it is, even on horseback, and she can tell Monty is feeling it physically, but she doesn't want to waste a second.

"Yeah," Monty says. He hefts the backpack over his shoulder; Olivia has another backpack, and they're both stuffed full. "Show me."

Together they all go deeper into the complex, led by Lexa, who holds a torch aloft to light the way. She shows them to a door flanked by guards and pushes it open, ushering them into a nondescript room with no windows where Jaha's backpack is sitting on a table. Another door leads to an attached bedroom. 

Lexa uses her torch to light several wall sconces and a tall brazier by the table. "Thank you for coming, Monty kom Skaikru," she says, trying to put him a little more at ease. 

Monty's eyes dart between Lexa and Clarke, then to Octavia. Octavia shrugs minutely at him. "Uh. Yeah. No problem."

Lexa moves on to business, ignoring any awkwardness. "You may work here. I've had the next room furnished comfortably, and there are servants to make sure you have whatever you need. You may also choose to live in the tower, but I would prefer you stay here to reduce the chances someone will follow you back to this location."

"Okay," Clarke says, trying to bring down the official vibe to something more casual. "Monty, why don't you and Octavia get set up and see what else you might need. Lexa, I need to talk to you outside."

They all start moving at the sound of Clarke's voice, Monty opening his backpack and pulling things out, Octavia also unzipping her backpack. 

Lexa leaves her torch in a wall sconce and follows Clarke into the hallway, far enough away from the open door that they can't be overheard. 

"Sorry, I didn't really have anything to tell you," Clarke says. "You were just making Monty nervous."

Lexa's mouth quirks slightly in amusement. "I know, Clarke."

Clarke smiles too. "Oh." 

"I assume Monty will need time to gather any information. I'll wait at the tower." Her mouth smooths into something more neutral. "And you're staying here."

Clarke looks over her shoulder, where she can still see Octavia laying things out according to Monty's instructions. It's good seeing another face from Arkadia, and in any case she's desperately curious about the device. "Yeah."

"Then good night, Clarke." Lexa nods slightly and walks away, followed by her personal guards. 

Back in the room, Monty already has several alligator clips attached inside the device, hooked up to meters lined up next to a laptop. "Um, no power outlets," he says sheepishly. "Guess it's good I brought a solar-powered battery." 

"This thing helps Jaha create some kind of complex virtual reality," Clarke begins.

"Yeah, we're familiar with its effects," Monty says, his voice dropping darkly. 

"Come on, I'll tell you what's up in Arkadia," says Octavia, pulling Clarke towards the attached room. They sit together on the bed and Octavia starts with the days leading up to Jaha getting kicked out of Arkadia, how bad it got with Raven, following Jaha to Polis, arriving only to realize Clarke had been abducted. They talk until Monty stumbles in, rubbing his eyes.

"The tower's really comfortable if you want to stay there," Clarke says.

"I think I'm good here," says Monty, tipping his head at the device. His voice carries an undertone of relief that he doesn't have to stay in the tower. 

"I'm staying with Monty," says Octavia. 

Clarke wants to stay too, but there's no room in the small bed and Octavia's bedroll is only suited for one. And besides there's nothing she can really do here except hover, so she takes herself off back to the tower, hood pulled over her head in case anyone is out late enough to recognize wanheda. 

Once back in her bedroom, she finds she can't sleep. She keeps closing her eyes, only to be bombarded right away with memories and feelings she doesn't want to think about.

She's not just afraid that she'll dream - she's afraid it'll be a good dream, one that she won't want to leave. It hasn't happened yet but she knows it could. It's on the tip of her brain, the years of her life all unraveled in an instant but still piled up somewhere inside her. 

She wants to tell Octavia. She's the only person in Polis who might be willing to listen, who Clarke could bear to tell. But it feels selfish, too, complaining about being given everything she ever wanted when Octavia is struggling to build a life between sky and ground. Arkadia, where Lincoln wants her to settle, and Polis, which calls to the earth in her blood. 

Clarke turns over a few times, fluffs her pillow, kicks off the sheets, and generally makes a mess of her bed. She's tired but not sleepy, too many thoughts to properly relax. She doesn't want to relax. 

Finally she asks the servant on duty for a pot of tea, resigning herself to losing another night. She couldn't sleep in the City of Light, and she can't sleep out of it. She's taken by the sudden petty urge to go wake up Jaha and ensure at the very least he doesn't get more sleep than her. Dawn can't come soon enough.


	10. Chapter 10

Clarke does her best not to yawn through the morning meeting in the throne room. It's blessedly short, and she's impatient to go see Monty.

She waits for Lexa while the other ambassadors file out, trying not to fall asleep in her chair. The damn thing is actually pretty comfortable and she wonders if Lexa did that on purpose, and whether she had Clarke's comfort or her own in mind.

At last they're alone, and Lexa tilts her head at Clarke in a "lead on" gesture. 

The elevator is quiet except for the creaks and clinks of the pulley chains. Lexa stands still in that way of hers, hands neatly clasped in front of her body, alert but not focused on any one thing. Clarke wonders if she had to learn it or if it just comes naturally to her. In the City of Light, Clarke used to tease Lexa for her posture, her straight back a natural byproduct of years of piano lessons and an overly strict instructor. She's not sure any pianos still exist in this world.

Once they're out in the open and the guards fall into position around them, Lexa glances sideways at her. "You look tired."

"I am tired," Clarke says, not bothering to deny it with the evidence puffing out her eyes and dragging her feet.

"We have a tea for sleep-"

"You guys have a tea for everything," Clarke says, not without humor. 

"Your time in the City of Light still troubles you."

Clarke can't deny that either, so continues trudging along in silence.

"Your mother is a healer. Perhaps she knows of a method-"

Clarke abruptly barks out a harsh laugh. She bites off the rest as she sees the wounded look on Lexa's face - juts a glimpse, hastily smoothed over, but still hurt. "Sorry, it's just. I was having the same sleeping problems in the City of Light and you suggested I go see my mother there too."

"A wise course of action regardless of the world," Lexa says, offering one of her little smiles, the kind that Clarke thinks have replaced jokes for her. 

Clarke enjoys the smile until she realizes what she just revealed to Lexa, and then she almost coughs to cover her embarrassment. 

Lexa is still smiling, milder now. "Clarke, I knew you saw me in the City of Light in some form or another. It wasn't hard to figure out."

"Um," Clarke says, hedging for time. Lexa is being so understanding, but she can't handle this right now. "Can we talk about this later?"

"It's clearly affecting you. You need to speak to someone about this."

"Can you drop it," Clarke whispers harshly. 

"Clarke-"

She doesn't know why Lexa won't stop pushing her. She's always backed down when Clarke asks her to - but she doesn't, the real Lexa doesn't. This Lexa has always been honest with her about confronting her truths. "Please. Lexa. Not right now."

Lexa finally leaves her be, biting back on the rest of her concerns, but Clarke knows they'll be revisiting this at some point soon. 

Another ten minutes of walking brings them to the little block of buildings where Monty and Octavia are staying. 

Monty is already working in his makeshift lab while Octavia sits by the entrance, devouring a plate of food. "Hey," she says with her mouth full. 

"Clarke, I've been looking at this for an hour and I can already tell you it's way beyond anything we had on the Ark," says Monty. "There are systems in here I would need weeks to properly understand, maybe months."

Clarke puffs out a tiny sigh. "That's what I was afraid of." She turns to get input from Lexa, but finds her staring at the inner workings of the device with her mouth just barely hanging open. "Lexa?"

"You need to come with me," she says to Clarke. A sharp nod is all she manages for Octavia and Monty before leaving, so quickly that Clarke can't even get a question out. 

"Wait-" Octavia tries to follow but the guards bar her way. 

Clarke looks back helplessly, making an apologetic face and hoping Octavia understands Clarke will tell her everything later.

Lexa is walking fast; Clarke has to trot to catch up. "Lexa, what is this?" she asks, trying to get a bearing on where they're headed. 

Lexa doesn't answer. She keeps plowing forward, Clarke and her guards in her wake. Finally she cuts into a side alley, takes a few turns that seem designed more to make anyone following them keep guessing rather than get them anywhere, and then leads them to a back entrance that looks locked and abandoned. But she knocks on it, and a small window slides to the side, revealing the face of a guard who opens it on seeing Lexa's face.

"Heda," he says deferentially, bowing as she walks past him. The other guards take up position inside the door. Lexa keeps going and Clarke is helpless to do anything but follow, going deeper into the building until they reach another heavy sliding door. 

"Lexa," Clarke says, finally catching her, getting a hand around her upper arm. "Where are you taking me?"

"My people have our own secrets," Lexa says, and the very fact she's not yanking out of Clarke's hold says a lot. She presses her hand flat against the door, head down, looking like she's about to cross a threshold from whence she can't return.

"Lexa." Clarke forces Lexa's attention to land on her. "Please. Just tell me."

Lexa slides the door open, walking in silently, standing aside so Clarke can see. 

The room is lit dimly by only a few candles, but Lexa picks up one and starts lighting more until the room is glowing.

Clarke gapes, eyes wide, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. Burnt out consoles, wires, a mural of dark portent, and enshrined by stacks of forgotten technology, a familiar shape. "This is a module from the Ark," she says, going to it, hand hovering over its faded hull. "Or it looks like one."

Lexa watches as she explores. Clarke's finger drifts down the line of letters on the module. "Polis," she mouths, sounding it letter by letter. She can't even begin to comprehend what she's seeing. She feels like her world has been upended. She whirls, finding Lexa waiting for her, eyes sharp. "What is this?"

"This is how the first commander came to us," Lexa says. "This is how our people began."

"The first commander." Clarke turns towards the pod again, seeing the scorching that could only come from atmospheric re-entry, the lines that scream _built for space_. "You came from the Ark." And then she remembers the old rumors, the thirteenth station, the one that got blown out of the sky, the conspiracy theories about the true origins of Unity Day. "The thirteenth station."

Lexa frowns, not understanding. "The first commander escaped a cataclysm. She came here to rebuild, and to ensure her people would survive. She established the blood of the commanders so that her spirit would always have someone strong to help guide her people. We keep this here as part of her legacy, so that in times danger she will always be with us."

Then she turns around, pulling her hair over her shoulder, tilting her head down to bare the back of her neck. 

At first Clarke can't understand why she's doing it, and then Lexa's head tilts far enough for Clarke to see. The tattoo, the infinity symbol. She comes closer, hand reaching out to touch. An old, heavy scar bisects the infinity, a line so precise it couldn't have come from the havoc of a fight. Her fingertips just barely trace the ink and a shudder passes through Lexa; Clarke pulls her hand back like she's been burned. "What is this, Lexa?" she breathes out.

Lexa lets her hair fall back and turns around. "The sacred symbol," she says. "When I saw it inside Jaha's machine I knew I had to bring you here." She looks up at the wall, at the story that Clarke can now make out based on what Lexa told her. A cataclysm, a woman, a people being led.

And it all originated with the thirteenth station. Clarke feels dizzy all of a sudden, to see her people and Lexa's linked like this. She looks for a chair, a ledge, somewhere to sit. Lexa is by her side quickly, helping her over to the nearest chair and slowly setting her down on it. "Clarke?" she asks.

"I'm ok." Clarke tips her head back. "I'm ok." She looks at Lexa crouched in front of her, hands full of concern, waiting for permission to touch. 

"Clarke, this location is a secret, even from my own people." Lexa's wide eyes beseech her in the flickering candlelight. "You cannot tell Monty or Octavia. I only brought you here so you would understand what might be at stake. Jaha has something that relates to the first commander. He may be able to access some part of her power, her legacy. And that means I am a liability."

Clarke frowns. "No, what-"

"Clarke, we are dealing with the commander's spirit. With the holy foundations of my people." Lexa stands up. "We must both be aware that there is far more going on here than we might suspect."

Clarke looks at her, at this girl who is intertwined far deeper with the destiny of her people than either of them could have known. She stands up, eye to eye with Lexa. "Then we'll deal with it together."

*

They go back to Monty's lab with a story about unrest among Jaha's followers. Octavia clearly doesn't buy it, but at least Monty is so engrossed in his work that he doesn't ask any questions.

"Progress," he says, hands hovering over the backpack. "I mean I couldn't tell you how it works, but I could maybe label some of the parts based on what you told me it does."

Clarke peers at the glowing parts. "Could you shut it down?"

He hesitates. "Probably. But I'm not sure if I should. I have no idea how the device would react right now to a sudden loss of power. It might have a shutdown protocol or something."

"Well keep working on it," Clarke says. "If you need anything else from Arkadia, we'll get it."

Monty exchanges a look with Octavia. "Um. Maybe Raven?"

Clarke slides her eyes towards Lexa, who is watching the three of them, clearly expecting them to come to a decision without her input. "You really think Raven will want to come here?" 

Lexa doesn't flinch from the discussion, but they're all remembering the last time Raven mixed with Grounders. She still carries some of the scars. 

"Want to? No," says Octavia. "Need to? Yeah." She finishes cramming food into her mouth - she must have called for a second plate and Clarke really doesn't know how where she puts it all - and stands up, roughly wiping her face with her sleeve. "Another trip to Arkadia."

"Long range radio," Monty reminds her, and she waves a hand at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

"Indra will accompany you," says Lexa. 

Octavia nods brusquely, just barely staying on the right side of polite. "See you guys in two days," she says.

Clarke doesn't bother to apologize for Octavia after she leaves; just because she's made her peace with Lexa doesn't mean any of the other Arkers have and she knows Lexa is fine with that. She thinks Lexa might be able to endure anything if it was for her people. 

"Do you require anything else, Monty kom Skaikru?" Lexa asks.

He seems startled to hear her speak so formally and politely to him, and he looks to Clarke first, as though expecting her to answer instead. "No, I'm good. Thank you," he manages.

"I'll see you later then, Clarke," Lexa says, already leaving, not expecting Clarke to come with her.

Clarke is torn - she's missed Monty dreadfully, but Lexa has just revealed something so monumental she doesn't think she'll be able to focus on anything else. 

"Are you okay here by yourself?" she asks. "I need to discuss something with Lexa."

Monty's expression doesn't quite change but she knows that he's picked up that something more is going on. "Yeah," he says anyway. "My bed here is actually more comfortable than the Ark. And the food is..."

They exchange looks. "I know, right," says Clarke. She looks at Monty one last time, still struggling with the impulse to stay. But in the end the sheer magnitude of what she needs to ask Lexa forces her back to the tower right on Lexa's heels.

"Hey," she says, jogging to catch up to Lexa. 

Lexa looks surprised to see her. "Hello, Clarke."

"We need to talk more," Clarke says, the new secret between them hanging heavy in the air.

Lexa gives one of her stiff little nods and they continue to the tower without another word. 

*

Lexa goes to her bedroom instead of the throne room. This is a conversation for just the two of them, and Clarke follows Lexa through the doors with only the slightest hesitation. She hasn't been in here yet and she can't help but look around, trying to spot personal touches, little things that help make up Lexa the person, not Lexa the commander of the thirteen clans.

The room is almost perfectly neat, only a single rumpled fur on the bed to indicate that someone uses it. A few candles have been lit by the table in the middle of the room, probably the work of one of the servants as soon as the call went up that Lexa was returning to the tower.

Clarke spots a book on the couch, placed within easy reach of anyone sitting down against the left arm, which has been covered with a soft-looking fur. Otherwise the room is pristine, as though waiting for someone to come inhabit it. 

As soon as the door shuts, Clarke starts asking questions. "The infinity, your sacred symbol. Explain."

First Lexa unclips her shoulder guard, tossing it onto her bed. Her coat comes off next, leaving her in a plain black top. Her shoulders work back and forth once, as though they pain her. "Every commander is marked with the sacred symbol," Lexa says finally, hands going behind her back, feet pacing a few steps away from her bed. "I received my tattoo on my ascension day, when the commander's spirit chose me."

"How does the commander's spirit choose?" Clarke asks.

"The conclave," Lexa says. "The nightbloods go through rigorous tests. We fight amongst ourselves."

"You kill each other?" Clarke asks, aghast.

Lexa frowns. "No, of course not. That would be foolish. If one commander should fall soon after the conclave, there would be no time to find and train the next one. The nightbloods return to their homes, to spread their strength among our people again."

"Oh." Clarke looks down, embarrassed to have assumed the worst so quickly. 

"When I emerged victorious from my conclave, I went through a bonding ceremony." Lexa finally stops pacing and sits down on the couch. She gestures for Clarke to join her. Once they're settled, Lexa pulls back her hair again, gathering the thick mass of it in one hand. She angles her body so that Clarke can see her neck. "The scar is where the flame of the commander's spirit was put in my body. I carry her and all the previous commanders before me. They speak to me, in my dreams."

Clarke's fingers trace down the scar, from the bottom of Lexa's hairline down to the knob of her spine. "Someone did this to you on purpose?"

Lexa shifts away, hair falling back into place. "It's the first real test of being the commander. We must endure pain for our people, pain that many of them may not understand." She recites the words like a lesson, and Clarke can sense Titus' guiding hands. 

Clarke pales a little. "You were awake while it happened?"

"Yes," Lexa says, matter of fact. 

"That must have been excruciating." Clarke wants to touch her again, this time to soothe an old hurt that has long since past. 

"It was." That familiar factual tone, lacking in any pity for herself. It was something that had to be done, and Lexa did it. 

"What exactly did they put in you?" Clarke asks, going back to the idea of a flame. Now she regrets dismissing the Grounder idea of reincarnation, how she simply thought of it as a superstitious tradition made up by a primitive people who had lost touch with their old Earth roots. "It's not an actual flame, is it?"

"It's a token that holds her flame," Lexa says, more textbook recitation. "Just as it will hold my spirit when I die."

Clarke's mind is trying to make the connections she knows must be there. An implant of some sort that gets passed down from commander to commander, somehow related to someone who was on the thirteenth station. An old piece of technology? "Does it always go in the same spot?" she asks, touching her own neck to demonstrate.

Lexa's eyes flick to Clarke's throat. "Yes. It must bond with the commander by being placed close to the brain."

"A neural implant," Clarke says, eyes widening. "Lexa, you're carrying a neural implant. It's probably bonded to your brain stem. This is incredible. We don't have anything like that kind of technology on the Ark. I mean before the war it's possible that science had advanced farther than we remember but..." She can see Lexa grimacing, rejecting Clarke's rambling theories, and Clarke can understand the reciprocal shock of hearing that a sacred tradition is actually a piece of your former enemy's technology. She tries to slow it down.

"If this token has been passed down from the first commander, you're carrying the memories of someone who was around for the war. Someone who _saw_ the history of both our peoples." Clarke touches Lexa's knee, lightly at first, not wanting her to pull away. "Lexa, this means we're not two different clans. We came from the same place." 

Lexa seems to relax into her touch a little, body language opening up to Clarke. "It seems we were fated to unite our people, Clarke," she murmurs.

Her voice is low, implying something more intimate than the joining of peoples, and Clarke withdraws her hand, suddenly feeling too warm. "I think this also means you're not a liability," she says. "You carry something made by the commander herself, something that relates to memory and consciousness. That's what Jaha's device does too, but you - you're fine. You're here, you're not trapped in some other world because of the token in your head. I mean you said the other commanders talk to you in your dreams so maybe the token can access your dream state."

Lexa's distaste returns, no doubt at the thought of her sacred object being perverted in the same way as Jaha's device. 

Clarke takes a breath. "Do you trust me?"

Lexa is unwavering. "You know I do."

"I want to tell Monty about your token. Your flame." She can see the objection already forming on Lexa's mouth. "I trust him, and I want him to scan your neck to see if he can find any clues as to how it works. So if you really trust me, please consider this. You could be the key to helping all those people who want to join Jaha in the City of Light."

Clarke can see the change go through the Lexa at the mention of her people. She'd been counting on it. She waits it out.

"Monty cannot decipher Jaha's device," Lexa says, and Clarke blinks, not expecting the rejection in her tone. "What guarantee do you have that he will learn anything from mine?"

"He won't tell anyone-"

"You have faith in your people, and I respect that. But if Monty knows, then the chances increase that someone else will find out, whether Monty tells them willingly or not." Lexa's chin lifts; her decision is final. 

Clarke is stuck. If Lexa won't even go see Monty, she definitely won't consent to going to Arkadia for medical imaging. She has to remember, too, that Lexa has her own agenda, her own desires. It's not as easy as pouting and saying _please_ in her flirtiest voice, the way she did when she was convincing Lexa to remodel their bathroom. 

"Perhaps we can find more answers in my people's history," Lexa says. "Your people aren't even aware such a thing exists, but my people have been handing down the flame for generations."

Clarke concedes. There's still so much they don't know about Grounder history, culture, politics, traditions. Her time in Polis has only shown her the sheer depth and breadth of what she has yet to learn. 

So Lexa leads her around to the opposite side of the tower and knocks on a door. Clarke expected they would go to a library of some sort, but instead they enter to find Titus standing ready to receive them, head already bowing deferentially. "Heda," he says. 

"Clarke knows about the flame," Lexa says, and Clarke can practically see Titus having a heart attack on the spot.

"Heda," he says again, but this time as though he's going to pass out from shock or outrage. 

"It is done," Lexa says, her voice calm but brooking no argument. "Now we will begin wanheda's education. From the beginning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titus ain't shit, so don't worry about him. He won't be shooting anyone in this story.


	11. Chapter 11

Clarke had thought she was done with formal schooling but as it turns out Titus is an engaging lecturer, his abbreviated lesson on the history of the commander's bloodline more of a narrative than anything. His voice is rich and expressive and she senses that he does this often, tutoring the Nightbloods on their heritage.

Lexa stays with her in the room, which Clarke appreciates. She knows Titus disapproves of her and it helps having Lexa nearby, checking every glare or scowl Titus dares to let creep onto his face.

For two hours he pontificates on the glorious history of the commanders; he and the fleimkepa before him account for eleven commanders, and Clarke figures from context clues that they tend to last an average of four or five years. She wonders when Lexa took the throne, if she was always so assured, if she came to Polis a scared little girl or if she always knew she was destined for greatness. She took the throne young, that's for sure, and Clarke thinks in the back of her mind about how she was probably fretting over dates and classes while Lexa was guiding an entire people towards her vision of a united Grounder nation. And here they both are in the end.

Her brain feels overfull by the time Titus winds it down, and she wordlessly follows Lexa back to her room. 

The same routine: Lexa pulls off her shoulder guard and coat, seems to loosen up her posture just enough to be more human than heda. Clarke sinks onto the couch, massaging her temples, stomach grumbling at missing lunch.

"It's a lot to learn, I know," Lexa says, looking at her with sympathy. "These lessons are usually spread out over several months."

Clarke rakes her fingers through her hair and tries to keep everything organized. "Only the commander can carry the flame," she says, staring at her hands and wishing for a notebook. "Commanders can only be nightbloods. So the first commander probably only wanted nightbloods carrying the flame, which suggests anyone else would reject it. And the first commander instructed you to pass the flame down from commander to commander so..." Her voice trails off in frustration. She can't see a way to bridge what she knows about Lexa with what she knows about Jaha, just that a connection must exist.

"We hold the flame in trust for our people," Lexa says. "So the wisdom of previous commanders can guide us in times of turmoil."

Once again, exactly what Titus told her. But Clarke can't be satisfied with that. "The original commander, her blood, her starting the tradition of the flame - no one does that without a reason. She needed the flame to continue on because..." And again Clarke can't follow the information to a conclusion. So much has been lost, forgotten, warped by the passage of time. 

"Eat, Clarke," Lexa says, opening the door to let in two servants carring trays of food and a pitcher of water. "An empty stomach never made for a wise decision."

Clarke gives in and relaxes a little bit, letting her body droop into the cushions. She starts eating before the servants can even leave, grabbing a piece of bread and spreading it with soft, creamy cheese. 

Lexa is more reserved, mostly watching Clarke between bites. 

"You think Jaha will be more willing to talk now?" Clarke asks between mouthfuls.

"You have a better measure of his character than I do," Lexa points out. 

As she eats and her stomach stops grumbling and energy returns to her system, Clarke feels more and more like this is a solvable problem. Already they have so many more pieces than before. That last connection feels less unknowable, and more like an inevitable conclusion. 

"Okay," Clarke says, finishing off the last of her water and standing up, brushing crumbs off her pants. 

"Clarke," Lexa says, staying seated. "You shouldn't confront Jaha without a plan."

"He's got to be rattled by now. He's been separated from his device for over a day. If his followers are any example he's panicking right now."

"People are at their most dangerous when they panic," Lexa says. "He'll try to turn the conversation on you at every point. He'll bargain for what he wants. He may physically threaten you."

"I know. Lexa, I know, and I'll be careful." Clarke taps her hand against her leg, trying not to let her nerves get the better of her. 

"Then let us go see Thelonious Jaha," Lexa says. Clarke feels a frisson of something like excitement running down her spine. They're close, she knows it, and she can't wait to be done.

*

Jaha is no longer pacing in his cell. He huddles by the wall, eyes closed, but Clarke can see how he slumps. Being separated from the device has taken its toll. 

Lexa nods at her, taking up her usual post right outside the door, hands folded in front of her body.

This time when Clarke walks in, she's quiet and slow, taking care not to agitate Jaha right away. She lowers herself to floor level with him, legs crossed at the ankles, arms around her knees. "Thelonious," she says.

He openes his eyes like someone who doesn't want to be woken. "Clarke," he says. His voice sounds hoarse, as though he's been shouting.

"How have you been."

"I think you know." No smile from him, just an eyebrow. 

"Are you ready to tell me what you're doing in Polis?"

"I've told you everything. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you."

"Thelonious," Clarke says softly. "What happened to you? Everything you did was for the good of your people."

"It is for the good of our people," he says, but he doesn't sound as full of his usual conviction.

"We stopped being your people the moment you thought it was acceptable to coerce and kidnap us," Clarke says, voice still soft, still reasonable. "Is this what Wells would have wanted for you?"

His face remains blank. 

"You know Wells tried to live up to your name every day down here?" Clarke says. Her voice catches, every single word hurting as she uses her best friend's death against his father. 

Jaha continues to stare blankly, a little crease forming on his forehead.

Clarke frowns too as alarm bells go off in her head. "Do you remember Wells?"

Jaha's frown deepens. "Wells," he repeats. "You say his name like I should know it."

Clarke can't speak, can't even begin to fathom what she's hearing. "Wells," she whispers. "Your son."

"My son," he repeats, the words sounding unfamiliar in his mouth. "My...son."

"How could you forget Wells," Clarke says, tears pricking at her eyes. She stands up abruptly, looming over him. "Is this what the City of Light does to you? Makes you lose everything that matters to you? Lets you run away from things you're supposed to carry with you forever?"

He flinches away from her, chains scraping as his hands move to ward her off. 

"Answer me," she barks. " _Answer me_. Did you forget Wells? Tell me one thing about Wells."

Jaha shakes his head, pushing himself against the wall, away from Clarke.

The memory of Wells and his easy, steady friendship is so close. She last saw his face so recently, and yet so long ago, and she misses him with a sharp throb that threatens to split her heart open. " _Answer me_ ," she nearly screams at him. "How could you forget _your son_."

Lexa walks swiftly around the corner. "Clarke," she says.

Clarke can't see anything but Jaha, this betrayal that feels worse than all the others combined. "He was better than you," she shouts. "It should have been you down here dying instead of him. He was always better than you."

Lexa grabs her around the waist, pulling her back. Clarke struggles against her, still intent in her fury. " _It should have been you._ Wells deserved better than you. You're nothing, you're nothing, you made yourself a monster because you're weak."

Lexa keeps dragging her, pulling her out of the room. As soon as they're out of Jaha's sight Clarke collapses, sobbing, arms going around Lexa's neck and holding on tightly. She buries her face in Lexa's shoulder and vents her sorrow while Lexa kneels in front of her and holds her. 

She doesn't know how long she cries, just that Lexa's jacket is soaked through when she lifts her face. 

"Come on," Lexa says, pulling Clarke to her feet. She walks them to the elevator, holds her quietly as they rise up the levels, gently guides her to Clarke's bedroom and lowers her to the bed. 

Clarke rubs her eyes, trying to stop the tears from leaking out. There's a small clink as Lexa pours her a cup of water and brings it over. Clarke accepts it and drinks deeply, calming down with every gulp. She lets out a shuddering breath when she finishes. "Thanks."

"When you're done, we'll go back and finish the interrogation," Lexa says.

"What? No, did you see me in there? I completely fell apart," Clarke says, clutching the cup to her chest.

"You found a weakness Jaha didn't know he had," Lexa says. No judgment in her voice, no pity, nothing but professionalism, as though she hasn't just held Clarke through her tears. "That is power. Exploit it. Show him how weak he is, then offer him a way to be strong again."

Clarke wants to lie down and cry some more over Wells, but there's no time for that. It's not something she can allow herself. Lexa isn't here to indulge her and rub her back and bring her soothing tea; she's here to get Clarke functional again and put her back in the game. "Okay," she says. 

She walks to the water pitcher by the window and pours herself another cup. It goes down cool and clear and she tries to follow the sensation, forcing everything to fade away until she's calm again. Lexa just watches her, eyes tracking Clarke across the room. 

"You're stronger than he is, Clarke," Lexa says.

Clarke nods. Even if she doesn't quite feel it, she can choose to believe in Lexa, and Lexa believes in her. 

Something in Lexa's gaze stops her at the door. "You're not a monster either," Lexa says.

Clarke doesn't have a response to that, doesn't know what she could possibly say, so she just steps out and focuses on what comes next.

*

Jaha is right where she left him. She pulls up a chair and watches him until it becomes obvious he's not going to move. She can see shiny tracks down his skin glistening in the torchlight, evidence of his tears.

"So the city makes you forget," she says, voice scratchy and low but under control.

"Not the city. The key," he whispers hoarsely. She leans closer to hear him better.

"The key?"

"You weren't given the key. It was temporary for you. Keys..." He finally shifts, propping himself up against the wall a little more. "They're complex and I was limited in how many I could make. I can't give a key to an unwilling recipient. So you were put under artificially, without the help of a key."

"Is that why I resisted the city so much?" Clarke asks.

"I don't know." Jaha sounds like he genuinely doesn't have the answer, instead of actively evading her. 

"Tell me about your backpack. The device. We know it connects you to the City of Light. But you couldn't have expected to just carry that around forever. What were you going to do with all the people who followed you?" Clarke tilts her head, trying to get him to look into her eyes.

"Eventually, I would have had led my followers back to my sanctuary, across the dead zone. We would make more keys, and go out into the world again. Growing our numbers."

"And then, what? You just...take over the world?"

"No, not take over." Some of the old fanaticism is still there. "Harmonize. Bring them together to build a new future. Provide them with a place of everlasting beauty when their physical bodies ended."

"What is this new future though? What does it look like? What happens to the people who refuse?" Clarke asks. _Like Raven. Like me,_ she doesn't add, though she knows he hears it. 

"I told you, keys can't be given to the unwilling."

Something about the way he says it this time, the way it sounds like a rule and not a policy. "You literally can't give a key to the unwilling can you," she says.

His eyes lock on hers. 

"Is that a rule? Something that can't be broken or else...the city doesn't work properly for those people?"

"A rule, yes." Jaha pauses, as though weighing his next words. "But not my rule."

Clarke sits back in her chair. "Alie." She can see he already regrets telling her, perhaps still convinced he can salvage his mission, go back to his painless life. "Alie is the one in charge, not you. I thought she was your...sidekick, I don't know. But Alie has been pulling the strings this entire time." She doesn't know how she didn't see it sooner.

Jaha's silence is all the confirmation she needs. 

"In Polis, the device is the only way into the city," she says.

More silence, and then a short nod from Jaha.

"In the city, Alie is in control?"

Another nod. 

"Thelonious," Clarke says, her voice soft now. She tries to summon the way she would talk to him as a child, as close to an uncle as anything she had on the Ark. "What is Alie's plan. Why does she need to control so many people."

But this is evidently a hair too far for Jaha, who is done talking. For now.

Clarke stands up, putting her chair away. She lingers by the door, regarding Jaha with - not quite pity. She doesn't have mercy enough in her at the moment to truly feel pity. But he's half-broken already, and with time, he'll give her everything she needs. 

"Wells died still thinking you were a good man," she says. She leaves him with that, not knowing if it's solace or dagger or both, and disgusted with herself for not being able to tell.


	12. Chapter 12

Abby is stunned when Clarke and Lexa relate all to her at dinner, after she returns from her usual rounds with the rescued and her new classes with some of the healers of Polis. She's been teaching them new first aid methods, and they've been showing her their herblore - what to use to reduce fever, what helps pain, what induces labor. 

But her comments on the progress she's made dry up as soon as walks into the chamber off the throne room and registers Clarke's grim face, with Lexa's not much better. 

Abby is horrified to learn that Jaha can't remember Wells. She clutches Clarke's arm as it rests on the table, eyes suspiciously shiny. Perhaps from the memory of a boy she saw grow up, perhaps from the knowledge that he bore the brunt of Clarke's anger for so long in Abby's name. Perhaps both. 

Clarke avoids her eyes, already emotionally exhausted, unable to deal with the shared weight of that particular piece of history just now. She just lays out what they know, but only on Jaha's side of the story, leaving out everything Lexa showed her until she can't go any further without revealing a secret that isn't hers to give away.

Clarke glances sideways at Lexa, asking silently for permission. Her mother is smart and probably knows more about neural implants than she does. 

Lexa holds her gaze for a moment - long enough for Abby to notice and narrow her own eyes - and Clarke can tell she's weighing her options. She rejected telling Monty, but this is not just Clarke's friend. It's her mother, and one of the Skaikru leaders. Lexa jerks a short nod.

"There's more," Clarke says. She struggles with words for a moment trying to figure out how to summarize it all so her mom will understand. She doesn't think Lexa will be receptive to bringing Abby to the Polis module; all the talk of sacred and holy has Clarke fairly certain it's lucky Lexa brought even her there.

"We found something connected to the City of Light already in Polis," Clarke begins. "The infinity symbol..."

Another look to Lexa, asking for permission. 

This time Lexa doesn't nod, but turns in her chair and pulls her hair aside, leaning her head forward to make sure her neck is laid bare. Abby gets up to look closer, and then her eyes go wide as she locks onto the infinity mark. Her hand hovers by her hip, fingers wanting to touch and examine. Clarke knows that her mom is seeing that scar and coming up with all sorts of diagnoses.

"What is this? Could it be a coincidence?" Abby says, staring until Lexa covers her neck again and turns to sit straight. 

"I assure you it is no coincidence," Lexa says. She looks at Clarke, the tightness around her eyes belying the calmness of her tone. "Tell her."

"Mom, Lexa has a neural implant," Clarke says.

"A neural...what?" Abby takes a few steps backward, guiding herself with a hand on the table until she hits her chair. 

"A neural implant. It's part of the grounder belief in reincarnation." She can see Lexa wince when Clarke says it like that, but carries on in terms her mom will understand. "The scar on Lexa's neck, it's where they put the implant in when she became commander. Every commander before her has had it, and it seems to carry their personalities. Or thoughts. Part of them, something, remains on that implant."

"The commanders before me live on in the flame I carry," Lexa says, rather pointedly. "Their wisdom and experience helps guide the commanders who come after them. They speak to me in my dreams."

"I think it attaches to the brain stem," Clarke says, touching the same spot on her neck as where Lexa carries her scar. 

"Clarke, this isn't..." Abby looks feebly between her daughter and Lexa.

"Mom, how much do you know about the thirteenth station?" Clarke asks. 

"Thirteenth station? As in...up there?" Abby asks, pointing vaguely at the sky. Clarke nods. "It's a conspiracy theory." But something in her voice gives away the lie that falls automatically from her tongue.

"You knew," Clarke says, tilting her head. Once, she might have been accusatory, but now they have more important things to handle. 

"Yes," Abby admits. "There was a thirteenth station. It was destroyed as an example to the other twelve stations."

"And one person from that station made it out alive," Clarke says. She takes on some of the cadence that Titus used during their abbreviated lesson. "She landed here, in Polis. She became the first commander. She established their lineage."

"Lexa is a descendant of the first commander?" Abby asks, clearly startled by the idea that this woman, whom she once called a savage for her differences, could trace her ancestry back to the Ark. 

"Not literally. I don't think. You're not a direct descendant of the first commander, are you?" Clarke asks, wishing she'd thought to ask sooner. She's absorbed so much new information in such a short amount of time it's hard to keep everything lined up correctly in her head. 

Lexa takes over smoothly. "We are of the blood. The first commander's blood was special, and she spread her blood among the people, to ensure someone would always be able to carry the flame. Only those of the blood can carry the flame without dying."

"Special how?" Abby asks.

Clarke almost wishes her mother could have seen Lexa fighting Roan; far enough removed from it, she can admit to the sheer spectacle of it all without getting consumed by the memories of fear. "Show her," she says, not wanting Lexa to hurt herself but also needing her mother to accept things quickly.

Lexa pulls out her dagger and before Abby can flinch, makes a shallow cut on the back of her forearm. She squeezes around the wound and that dark black blood that Clarke remembers oozes up in a thin line. Lexa smears it a little with her pointer finger, showing it to Abby without a hint of discomfort.

"Oh my god," Abby says. She pulls her chair closer, the scientist in her taking over. "How?"

"We are nightbloods," Lexa says, as though that is explanation enough. "Nightblood children are brought to the capital to be trained, and when one commander dies, her spirit chooses the next commander from among them."

Abby seems to have only absorbed about half of what Lexa is telling her, still fascinated by the black blood sluggishly oozing from the cut on Lexa's arm.

Clarke, however, tears a few strips off of her napkin and starts cleaning the cut without asking. Abby tenses, clearly expecting Lexa to object to being touched without explicit permission, but when no outburst is forthcoming, she frowns at the two girls in front of her.

Clarke continues bandaging Lexa's arm, even though it's hardly more than a scratch. "As far as I can figure their blood must carry some kind of genetic marker that prevents them from rejecting the implant." She finishes by tying off the bandage, resisting the urge to pat Lexa's arm and lay a kiss over the back of her hand, the way she did the last time Lexa cut herself chopping vegetables for dinner. "A neural implant that deals with memory and perception. Sound familiar?"

"So this first commander fell to Earth and...created a society that worshiped her?" Abby asks, rather indelicately, but Clarke supposes that Lexa is graciously allowing them some leeway for being Skaikru outsiders. They'll have to break themselves of it if they want to interact more with the other clans, though.

"She rebuilt a society that was broken from cataclysm," Lexa corrects her. "And she ensured that she would always be present to guide us."

"Two separate devices that do related things? Marked with the same symbol? What are the odds," Clarke says.

"Thelonious said the City of Light was across the Dead Zone," Abby says, which prompts Lexa to get up and go to a bookcase against the wall. Her hand scans over the shelves until she finds a rolled up piece of parchment, which she brings back to the dinner table and lays out flat with their plates and cutlery holding down the corners. It's a drawing of Grounder territory, which to Clarke's eye just about maps onto the northeastern region of what was once the United States.

Lexa points to a crossed-off area across the water and northeast of Polis. "This is the Dead Zone," she says. 

Abby follows her finger. "He says he crossed a 'great body of water' too."

But the edge of the map ends before it hits more water. Lexa shakes her head. "We have no reason to go beyond the Dead Zone. It forms one of our borders. If Jaha journeyed farther than that, then he has gone beyond our territory."

"So the place he got his technology is completely disconnected from Polis," Clarke says. She really has to start writing all this down. "Maybe that's why the first commander started over here. She couldn't get to wherever her equipment was." She can see she's pushing it from the twitch to Lexa's mouth; they've basically been calling the foundations of the Grounder religion a giant coincidence for most of dinner, and she tries to move it back to their plans for Jaha. 

"Jaha's keys seem to make you forget. Lexa's implant is all about remembering. So..." Clarke's voice trails off.

"You think they're supposed to go together? That sounds like they're meant to be kept apart, fulfilling different functions," Abby says.

"They're related somehow, and clearly the first commander thought it was necessary to keep her legacy alive." Clarke starts to form another idea, things coalescing in different ways after talking it out with her mom's perspective mixed in. "You know what we also recovered when you raided the location where they were holding me?"

Abby and Lexa frown in unison at her, which she would normally find hilarious, just like when her mom would pick Lexa's side in a fight. But she's on a roll, barreling towards a plan. 

"The device they used to put me in my own city of light," Clarke says. 

Abby is already shaking her head. "Clarke-"

"If it can access my memories, who's to say it can't access the memories in the implant?" Clarke asks.

Lexa slowly catches up. "You want to...attach me to the device Jaha was using on you?"

Clarke suddenly wishes she'd waited until her mom was gone to spring this on Lexa. It's always easier to persuade her when it's just the two of them. "Jaha said I was different because I hadn't taken a key. He said it was a..." She tries to remember exactly how he phrased it. What had Alie told her? "I was being isolated from the others. I was in my own simulation, where they created the framework and I populated it with my memories."

"Who is 'they'?" Abby asks.

"There's a woman in the simulation. She's the one controlling things. Her name is Alie, and I think she's some kind of AI."

"AI?" Lexa asks.

"Artifical intelligence," Clarke explains at the same time as her mother narrows her eyes.

"Alie. Raven mentioned that name," says Abby. 

"Raven!" Clarke exclaims. "She's taken a key, right? But she's not under Jaha's influence any more."

"Yes," Abby says cautiously. 

"Once she's in Polis I bet she and Monty can help us figure out how to hook up safely and access the memories stored on Lexa's implant," Clarke says.

Now Abby and Lexa are looking at each other, like they're having a silent discussion about Clarke. Where once that look was reassuring to her, now it's just disturbing. 

"We'll...ask Raven. When she gets here," Abby says, sounding like she very much hopes to convince Raven to say no. 

"If I know Raven, she's going to want to get to the bottom of this as much as I do," Clarke says confidently. 

*

After dinner, Lexa can see how anxious all this new information has made Abby, so she bids Clarke a polite but warm good night after walking them both to the door of Clarke's room. 

Abby watches Clarke from the couch as she closes the door, her own eyes following Lexa down the hall until she's out of view. "It's good that you're able to work together," Abby says. "I was worried when you decided to stay behind in Polis."

"It's different now," Clarke says, sitting in the chair catercorner to the couch. Her mom already knows everything Lexa went through to keep the coalition intact and she's not about to explain it again. 

"I know. It's just you were so hurt after the mountain. And now you seem...more whole again. I see you smile, and it makes me happy." 

Clarke ducks her head at the affection in her mom's voice. She tucks her feet up under her in the chair. "A lot's happened since then."

"With Lexa?" Abby asks, somehow less judgmental than Clarke would have expected that question to be.

"She respects me. And I trust her now."

"Is it okay if I don't trust her, not just yet?" Abby asks, gentle but sincere.

Clarke grimaces, but doesn't immediately retort. Instead she takes a breath to stay calm and thinks of Lexa, willing to forgive her ambassadors so much for trying to do right by their people. "Yeah. I know you're just looking out for me. For us. But just keep an open mind, please?"

"You sound like Marcus," Abby says, smiling. 

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" It's a rhetorical question and they both know it.

"It's getting late," Abby says eventually. "I'm going to bed."

"Okay. I'll see you in the morning," Clarke says, and somehow earns a very searching look from her mother, the kind she used to receive when she thought she was getting away with something and Abby absolutely had her number.

"How have you been sleeping?" Abby asks, her voice a mix of half-mom, half-doctor.

Clarke shrugs. "I'm doing fine."

"You're tired during the day, I know," Abby says, and Clarke can't deny it. Anyone with eyes can tell she's tired during the day.

"Still adjusting, I guess," she says lamely.

Another pause as Abby examines her, but not with a clinician's eye. Clarke feels like a child again, when her mother could instantly tell the moment she was coming down with anything. "Honey, I know you experienced something in the City of Light. If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay. But you can tell me anything," Abby says, voice soft and coaxing.

"I'm - I'm not sure you'd want to hear about it," Clarke says. 

"Maybe. But I'll listen to anything you have to say." 

Clarke considers it for a moment. And then it strikes her that maybe it's selfish to keep an experience with her father to herself. Wouldn't she want her mom to tell her if she'd seen her dad again, even in an illusion? "The city," she starts, "Was my perfect world."

"Paradise," Abby says, clearly remembering Clarke's first interrogation with Jaha.

Clarke nods. "It was supposed to be a life with everything I ever wanted. I had a good life. I was happy. You were there." She takes a breath and looks steadily at her mom. "And so was dad."

Abby doesn't seem all that surprised, just saddened and sympathetic. "And when you woke up he was gone again," she says.

Clarke nods, feeling memories of her father rise to the surface and stick in the back of her throat. She swallows. "When I woke up I remembered everyone dying all over again. Dad. Wells. Finn. Everyone."

"Oh honey. I'm so sorry," Abby says. She gets up and sits on the arm of Clarke's chair, pulling her close and hugging her. Clarke wraps her arms around her mom's waist, just letting her hair be stroked for a moment. Letting herself be a teenager being comforted by her mom.

"Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?" Abby asks, still smoothing down Clarke's hair, tucking it behind her ear. 

Clarke shakes her head. "No, it's okay. They have this tea that helps."

Abby chuckles. "They have a tea for everything."

Clarke leans back, eyes wide in good-humored agreement. "That's what I said."

"We'll have to bring samples of everything back to the Ark for analysis," Abby says, sounding pleased by the idea. "We have so much to teach each other."

"Now who sounds like Kane," Clarke says smugly.

Her mom hugs her one more time before leaving to go to bed, and Clarke feels slightly better for having talked to her mom. A servant brings her a pot of tea and after one cup, on top of the lingering warmth from her mother's affection, she's ready to close her eyes. She falls asleep without apprehension for her dreams, instead looking forward to seeing Raven again.


	13. Chapter 13

The next day is strange, going from so much information all at once to waiting, waiting, waiting for Raven to arrive. That has to be their next project, Clarke thinks as she sits through another morning meeting: improving transport between Polis and Arkadia. Improving the lines of communication. Getting the Arkers more used to seeing Grounders on an everyday, regular basis.

She retreats to her room after the meeting is over, wanting to pore over the notes she jotted down in bed the night before. It was helpful, diagramming everything she'd managed to figure out so far, and now she stares at the pages laid out on a table, trying to rearrange them into something more coherent.

The knock at the door startles her, she's concentrating so hard, and she calls out "Just a minute" as she sweeps up her papers and hides them under a blanket on her bed. She hurries to the door and cracks it, finding a servant with a tray.

"I didn't ask for this," Clarke says, confused enough to avoid coming off rude. She looks down at the covered dish and basket of freshly baked bread. It smells heavenly.

"Heda sent it," says the servant.

Clarke lets her in so she can set the tray on the little coffee table, eyes down and averted with the respect due wanheda. She's tried to get the servants to be more familiar with her and some of them have warmed up, but others are still quiet and formal. She wonders if Lexa is close to any of the servants, perhaps the ones who were here to see her as a teenager first assuming the throne. Perhaps even younger, when she was a Nightblood herself. She can't even imagine Lexa as anything but what she is today, a fully formed warrior and leader.

But she can imagine, because Lexa in the City of Light had had childhood photos, and Clarke has never _seen_ Lexa as a child so for all she knows they were just best guesses that Alie inserted, but she does have a concept of Lexa as something other than adult. She's suddenly intensely curious to know if her imagination at all matches the reality.

After the servant leaves, Clarke pulls off the plate cover and finds one of her favorites, roast venison with some kind of roasted vegetable mix. The bread is still warm, crisp on the outside and fluffy on the inside, and there's soft butter to spread on it. There's also a cup of fresh fruit, which she she used to have to ask for but is always included with her meals now. 

She judges the position of the sun and gathers everything up again, balancing the tray on one hand to maneuver through the door before walking down the hall to Lexa's room. She knocks, and faintly hears Lexa call for her to enter.

Again the balancing act, making her appreciate more how the servants maneuver around things so effortlessly.

Lexa is on the couch in her sitting area, also eating lunch as Clarke thought she might be. Her meal is the same as Clarke's, with a large bowl of soup too. 

That, Clarke clearly brought with her into the City of Light. Both Lexas eat more than one might think could fit in their bodies, but Clarke knows how hard Lexa works. She rises at dawn and goes to bed long after dark and in between there are a hundred matters large and small for her to personally handle, always on her feet, always on the move. She needs the energy.

"Thank you," Clarke says, motioning slightly with her tray. "Do you mind if I eat with you?"

Lexa pulls her food to one side of the table, gesturing at the empty space it leaves behind. Clarke settles down on the floor at the end of the table with her legs curled to the side. After a moment, Lexa slides off the edge of the couch, propping her back against it and coming to eye level with Clarke.

"I thought you might be distracted today, after everything," Lexa says.

Now that she has food in front of her and the smell is wafting straight into her nostrils, Clarke's stomach gurgles recalcitrantly. "Maybe a little." 

Lexa doesn't tease outright but her little half smile of understanding has the same effect. She watches Clarke dig into her food, eyes flicking over her face and then back down to her own plate. "How did your mother deal with what we told her last night?"

Clarke pauses. "Okay, mostly." She puts down her fork, looking at Lexa. "It's weird thinking about how we're all linked or something, you know? For so long we thought we had nothing in common but to find out that we were..." 

"Meant to meet," Lexa finishes for her. "The commander fled your clan to join ours, and now our clan is united with yours."

"Destiny," Clarke says softly. 

They stare at each other, feeling the the pull between them, the way their people's histories are colliding and entwining in the here and now. 

"Clarke," Lexa says, her voice as soft as Clarke's. "What was the City of Light like?"

"I-" Clarke still doesn't think she can tell Lexa everything, even if Lexa has almost certainly guessed at the truth.

"I want to be prepared, if I must enter it," Lexa continues.

Clarke could slap herself for being so self-centered. Of course Lexa would want to be prepared for something so dangerously enticing it's hypnotized her own people into rebelling against her. She takes a moment to think, trying to remember without sinking back into the memories themselves. "It feels real," she says. She can hear Jaha's questions on the edges of her mind. "It feels as real as you and me sitting right here. You won't be able to tell the difference. It's not like when you dream and everything is kind of hazy and..." Lexa doesn't look like she comprehends and it occurs to Clarke that someone with a neural implant might not experience things the same way that Clarke does. "Do your dreams seem real?"

"My dreams changed when I became the commander," Lexa says. Her eyes go slightly foggy, staring at nothing. "When I was a child they were different, but once I received the flame, everything became much more...focused. They became about my past lives, my work as the commander."

"You mean you don't just dream? About, you know...stuff?" Clarke is saddened by the thought that not even Lexa's dreams can be just for her, that even in her sleep, she is still bound by duty.

"Stuff?" Lexa repeats, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Stuff. Random things. Things that don't make sense sometimes."

"Not anymore," Lexa says, and even though she sounds fine with it, Clarke feels a pang in her chest. 

"Do you remember dreaming? From before?" she asks, too curious not to ask.

Lexa's eyes go unfocused again, as though digging deep in her memories. "A little. Not really. I only remember a few dreams from before I became commander."

"Were they good dreams?" Clarke asks cautiously.

Now Lexa looks away, as though embarrassed. "They were just the dreams of a child. Simple fantasies."

"Oh. Did you see yourself all grown up, heroically swinging your sword?" Clarke teases. Maybe she might not have chosen to tease before, but it feels like that's okay. Lexa, sitting on the floor, eating a private meal with Clarke, invites teasing instead of the straight-backed formality due to heda.

"Perhaps," Lexa admits. "Mostly I dreamed about my family."

"Oh." Clarke slumps a little, feeling bad now. 

"It's an honor to be brought to Polis to train," Lexa says, apparently trying to make Clarke feel better, which only does the opposite. "My family was very proud that I was chosen."

"Are they...I mean, do they still..." Clarke wishes she hadn't even asked.

"No," Lexa says, but without anger. "They died a few years after I came to Polis. War between the clans was more common then."

"Wars you stopped."

Lexa just looks down at her food and hums a sound that could be agreement or a desire to change the topic. 

At the very least it distracts Clarke from thinking about their problem with Jaha. She's been making fruitless assumptions, leapfrogging too many pieces of information trying to connect the dots. Her gut is telling her it's all connected but her brain can't follow and there's too much at stake here to just go with a feeling. 

Before Clarke can get too caught up in her own thoughts, Lexa starts talking about her latest headache, the bakers in the city wanting to form a group to trade with millers to prevent exorbitant demands after bad harvests. Clarke listens with half an ear at first, but as Lexa goes on, she gets more and more drawn into the problem. 

"We learned about this on the Ark," she says. "They used to call them unions."

"What did they do?" Lexa asks, so Clarke is obliged to dredge up every history lesson on the topic she ever tried to forget, assuming she would never need to know about how unions functioned except to pass the class. She has to pause here and there, concentrating so hard that she forgets to eat. 

It's not until Lexa innocently asks her about the dangers of allowing unions to control prices that Clarke catches on.

"You already know all about this," she accuses Lexa.

Lexa just finishes the last of her water and runs a napkin over her mouth. "I believe I have a meeting now."

"You do not. You were distracting me," Clarke says, digging vigorously into the food she neglected while she was talking.

"It worked," Lexa points out, and Clarke realizes she hasn't thought about anything but bakers and millers long enough for her food to go a bit cold. 

"Hmph," Clarke mutters, but she can see Lexa is pleased with herself and can't be too grumpy about it. 

*

Clarke spends the rest of the day with Lexa. At first she thought to leave after lunch, but they both had some downtime, and so she lingered a bit awkwardly until Lexa invited her to stay. 

It occurs to her she's never seen Lexa relax before. In the quieter moments they've shared, they were still planning to take down Mount Weather and even when Lexa was attempting to rest, Clarke filled the air with nervous energy. She's never seen Lexa at her ease, doing something for the pleasure of it.

And now she pulls a book from her nightstand for Clarke to read, the placement implying that she reads before bed. "I have other books," she says, sounding slightly shy about offering her library to Clarke.

"Um. Actually." Clarke has been feeling the urge to draw since she woke up, her hand itching for a pencil or brush. She remembers never being far from a sketchpad or a canvas, hundreds of paintings, thousands of drawings, millions of brushstrokes collected over a lifetime, and she misses it keenly. "Could I draw?" she asks.

Lexa seems to light up at the suggestion and has a servant bring her charcoal and paper. Clarke spreads out over Lexa's coffee table while Lexa stretches out on her couch with her book.

She hesitates at first, not knowing what she wants to draw. She lets her hand go where it wants, getting used to the textures, the drag of the charcoal on the rough paper. A few lines at first, some little experiments with rubbing and shading. Then she flips the paper and tries some more, and before she knows it she's pages deep and when she looks up, Lexa is slumped to the side with her book open on her stomach, rising and falling in a regular rhythm.

Clarke stares at her. She looks so simple in her sleep, just a girl about Clarke's age taking a nap. Clarke can't remember the last time she had the luxury of a nap, except in the City of Light when she would nap all the time. Sometimes in her studio in a warm patch of light like a cat, sometimes before dinner while waiting for Lexa to get home, sometimes on the weekend, curled around Lexa for a late morning doze. 

Lexa is different in Polis. Everything is different here. Some things are the same. 

At first it's just her hands, the elegant lines of them resting against the book. Then the rest of her body, and then her face and the waves of her hair pressed into her pillow and spilling down over her shoulders, melding with the collar of her black and gold shirt. Her fingertips are almost entirely black when a light knock falls on the door, rousing Lexa instantly.

It's incredible seeing her go from total stillness into ready alertness in the time it takes Clarke to close her sketchbook.

"Enter," Lexa calls.

Titus cracks the door and poke his head in. "Heda?"

"What is it?" Lexa asks, standing up, hands going behind her back.

"The Sky People have arrived in the city. They are waiting for you in the throne room."

Clarke automatically looks to the balcony, judging the sun's position in the sky. "Already? They weren't supposed to be here until tonight at the earliest."

Lexa nods to Titus. "I'll be there shortly."

He backs out of the room, eyes flicking to Clarke, but holding his tongue.

Lexa opens her wardrobe, pulling out her overcoat and her shoulder guard. 

"Hey, it's just Raven. No need for formality," Clarke says, watching Lexa tug everything on, clipping in the shoulder guard strap just so, adjusting it until it drapes neatly. Perhaps Lexa is remembering the last time she and Raven saw each other.

"It's better to begin with formality, then familiarity if the situation allows for it," Lexa says, checking over her coat one more time and pulling it straight. Then she leads the way from her bedroom, with Clarke very aware of how casual she looks now in her plain blue shirt and dark pants. But she doesn't have time to duck into her room and change, so she just follows Lexa to the throne room, where Octavia and Raven are waiting.

Octavia looks bored, but Raven is openly glancing around, taking note of the room, digesting it all with her engineer's mind. 

"Hey," Clarke says, realizing just how long it's truly been since she last saw Raven. She takes a tentative step forward.

"Hey," Raven says, and grabs Clarke so she can hug her. The guards tense up around them, which doesn't go unnoticed by Octavia, but Raven just squeezes Clarke until Clarke squeezes her back, and then holds her at arms' length to get a good look at her. A little dusty from travel, eyes not as clear as someone who gets regular sleep should have, but whole and coherent.

"How did you get here so fast?" Clarke asks.

"This one," and Raven tilts her had at Octavia, "Convinced Kane it was necessary to let us use one of the rovers. So here we are with all the stuff Monty requested. Where is Monty?"

"Welcome, Raven kom Skaikru," Lexa says. "Clarke and I will take you to Monty."

Raven looks at Clarke with something like surprise. "You've got the commander escorting us lowly peons around."

"We'll tell you everything," Clarke says. She grasps Raven's arms, still resting on her shoulders, trying to convey that she needs Raven to just follow her lead for a minute. "But you should rest first, because there's a lot."

"I've been sitting on my ass for hours," Raven says, but she picks up on some of the tone in Clarke's voice and lets her arms fall to her sides. "I guess I could eat, though. Guess who wouldn't shut up about the food for the entire ride."

"No one in Arkadia knows how to cook," Octavia says, perking up at the mention of food. 

Lexa observes them all, the easy interaction between them, her face completely controlled, body language as formal as when she conducts business with the ambassadors. It's strange to Clarke, seeing Lexa so distant from Octavia and Raven when they were close in the City of Light. Lexa was close to all her friends; she even asked them to help plan Clarke's last birthday party, a secret they miraculously kept from her for three weeks. 

"I'll have food brought," Lexa says, nodding to a guard, who leaves to summon a servant. She also pulls them all into the side room, where it's less likely they'll be overheard or have other business intrude on them. She waits for everyone to sit before taking her place at the head of the table. 

"I hope your journey was not taxing, Raven," Lexa says politely.

Raven leans forward, one arm slung across the top of the table. "Look, shit is dire here. I know from first hand experience what Jaha does to the locals, so let's not stand on formality."

Lexa's only response is a slight tilt of her head, but Clarke knows she's impressed. But for their rough start, they probably would have ended up liking each other quite a lot. "Very well." 

"Good." Raven leans back in her chair. "Tell me everything."


	14. Chapter 14

Monty is plainly relieved to see Clarke, Raven, and Octavia enter his workshop. 

"They treating you okay down here?" Raven asks, giving him a hug. 

"Better than some places we've been," Monty says, the dark humor of it not lost on Raven.

"I come bearing gifts." Raven clunks a duffel bag onto the floor. "And your mom says hi."

Monty starts pulling equipment from the duffel. "She wants me to come back, doesn't she."

Raven shrugs. "Most good moms do." She starts circling the table where Monty has laid out the device. Parts of it are extended out by their wires, pulled out of some kind of motherboard, with several alligator clips dangling from components. "Any progress?"

"I think I have the power source isolated, and I found a port that'll probably interface with the laptop, but I didn't want to risk activating anything by plugging in." Monty's hands wave over the device, showing Raven what he means.

"Plug it in, it'll be fine," Raven says, joining Monty on his side of the table. "As long as the laptop's not networked to anything, we're good."

Lexa is frowning, trying to keep up with the conversation, and Clarke resolves to give her a brief rundown of electronics soon, if only because they're probably going to start factoring into Sky-Ground trading soon. She stands over to one side, drawing Lexa with her, letting Monty and Raven sink deep into the jargon that's like a second skin to them. Octavia, who somehow managed to find food on the way to Monty's lab, sits by the door happily devouring some kind of meat on a stick.

"They might be a while," Clarke says, leaning over so only Lexa can hear her.

"What is the goal, Clarke?" Lexa asks. "Once we understand this machine, what will we do with it? Will destroying it return my people to their previous minds?"

Clarke hasn't thought that far at all. She's been so concerned with just getting the truth out of Jaha and making sure he can't use his machine to dupe more people she hasn't thought of the long term. "I don't know," she says, frowning. "I figured we'd stop Jaha first, then...take him back to Arkadia."

Lexa turns her body, closing out the rest of the room. "He has committed crimes against my people as well. We must have justice."

Clarke blanches, knowing what Grounders consider justice. 

Lexa doesn't miss her expression. "Would you have him walk free?"

"There is such a thing as middle ground between freedom and death by cutting," Clarke whispers, hoping like hell that Raven can't hear them. "And we can we have this conversation somewhere else?" 

Lexa looks at Monty and Raven, who are plainly trying to eavesdrop while pretending to continue with their work. "These decisions will affect them sooner or later, Clarke, and given their knowledge and skills, their input may be more valuable than our secrecy."

Clarke really wasn't expecting that, not from the woman who once didn't hesitate to kill anyone she didn't trust. But perhaps it's not that she won't kill to protect her secrets, but a matter of who she trusts now, which Clarke can find encouraging on some level. "Can we just...table this? Maybe wait until we have more information?"

Lexa agrees silently, turning back to look at the others in the room. "We have something else you must inspect, Raven." She motions to the guards outside the door, who bring in a crate and set it by the table. After they leave, Lexa pries off the top to reveal the device Jaha used to trap Clarke in the City of Light, hauled all the way back from where they were storing it in the tower. 

"What the hell is this?" Raven stands over the box, hands hovering above its contents.

"How much did Octavia tell you about what happened here?" Clarke asks.

Raven shrugs. "Enough. Jaha tried to turn everyone in the city into his weird happy slaves. He got to you, Lexa here turned the city upside down and managed to get to him before he could convert everyone. Now we're all just waiting to tie him to a pole." She cocks her head at Lexa, fixing her with a steely, expectant look. Clarke is very, very glad Lexa made the guards wait outside. 

Lexa looks back, calm and assessing, taking in another of the women from the Sky who has never backed down in front of her. "Jaha's punishment remains to be seen, although his guilt is assured. For now, we must have as much information as possible about why and how he accomplished what he did."

"Information, I can do," Raven says, pulling the box over to another table so she can start pulling out the device.

Clarke stares at it, getting her first really good look at the machine Jaha used to trap her in a life that didn't belong to her. A lot of wires leading into a spider-armed device she supposes went around her head, a thicker cable leading out of the center of the arms, and not much else. Raven starts sorting through the wires, pulling them out straight to lie neatly on the table, the ends dangling off like thin little tentacles. Lexa watches with interest and Octavia is behind her, finishing her meal, and Monty is starting to drift towards Raven's table with a voltmeter in his hands, and suddenly it feels too strange to be in this room with them all.

"I need some air," Clarke says. She marches out, knowing her friends are watching her. She can sense Lexa moving to follow her, hears Octavia murmur something. Lexa stays behind. 

She winds through the torch-lit hallways until she reaches the small fenced in dirt courtyard, tilting her head back to take in the warm sun and inhaling the smells of the city, uncaring of how it looks to the guards just inside the door. 

She's sunk too deep inside herself and she focuses on the city around her like a lifeline. The smoke in the air from nearby food stalls, the faint hammering of a blacksmith, the golden light bouncing off the buildings. This is real. She's here, she's present, she's awake. 

Eventually the door behind her clanks open and she hears the slight swish of a long coat. 

"Monty and Raven say they will be awhile. I have other matters to attend to," Lexa says, standing beside Clarke, hands folded behind her back. "Will you stay here?"

Clarke can't think of anything she really needs to do back in the tower - at least, not more than she needs to see her friends. "Yeah."

Still Lexa doesn't leave, standing calmly at Clarke's side, looking at nothing in particular. "This will become more difficult before it's over."

Clarke doesn't need to guess what she's referring to. "I know."

"You need to talk to someone about what you're feeling, Clarke." Lexa turns her head, eyes full of sympathy, even if her mouth is drawn in a hard line. "I know you don't want to speak to me, and I respect that. But your friends are here. Your mother is here."

Clarke clenches her jaw, willing herself not to grow emotional.

"I'll have dinner brought to you," Lexa says. She moves off, followed by her guards, quickly swallowed up the surrounding buildings.

Clarke takes a deep breath. Lexa is right, and she knows exactly who can help her.

*

Clarke and Octavia aren't especially useful to Raven and Monty, but by some mutual unspoken agreement, they all stick together in the lab. With the door closed they can pretend there are no guards outside, that they're just hanging out in someone's workshop until it's time for dinner. 

Monty takes a break from Jaha's backpack to examine Raven's device, leaning in close while wearing a head lamp. The lab may be secure, but the lighting is awful, and too many torches can make the room feel stifling. 

Raven sniffs a few times. "Why do you smell so good?" she asks Monty.

He makes a reflective face, sticking his nose against his bicep and inhaling. "I don't know. They have nice soap here I guess."

"Are you telling me the Grounders have scented soaps," Raven says flatly.

"I just use what they give me," Monty says.

Raven looks over her shoulder, where Clarke is sitting next to Octavia. "Do they give you scented soaps?"

Clarke can hardly say no with Octavia sitting right next to her, with her body dressed in fine Grounder clothes, with her hair twisted and braided back by a servant just yesterday. She'd convinced them she didn't need their help bathing after the branding ceremony, but one of them still insists on bringing fresh clothes every so often and doing up her hair. 

"Of course they do, you're the ambassador," Raven says, with just a little sharpness in her voice. 

Monty looks between Raven and Clarke, as sensitive as ever to the mood in the room. "I could use a break," he says. "My neck is starting to hurt."

"Thank god, me too," says Octavia, springing to her feet. "Let's go to the market while there's still light."

"I don't think Lexa wanted us wandering around," Clarke says.

Octavia rolls her eyes, still adjusting her sword strap around her shoulders as she prepares to leave.

"It's for our own safety," Clarke insists. "We don't exactly blend in, and Jaha may still have agents in the city."

To her very great surprise, Raven agrees. "We can't know who's working for him. You can't tell the difference between someone who's taken the chip and someone who hasn't." The strain in her voice, the real fear, it makes Clarke ache for Raven and regret all the time she spent away from Arkadia. While she was healing in Polis, Raven was hurting all over again.

"We can at least go out in the yard and get some fresh air," Clarke says. "And we can send a guard to get some food."

"People have already seen us with Lexa, coming and going from this building," Octavia points out. "They know we're here. And besides, we're not Lexa's subjects. We can leave whenever we want."

Clarke wants to argue that technically they are Lexa's subjects, ever since Kane took the brand. But Octavia will react very, very badly to that and she needs everyone here focused. "How about you bring back food from the market then," Clarke suggests. "You blend in pretty well."

"Fine," Octavia says. She holds out her hand expectantly. "I didn't bring enough to barter for four people."

Clarke hasn't had this problem; wherever she goes, she's either with Lexa or people know her as wanheda or the Skaikru ambassador. She tries to trade fairly, but they all seem determined to give her far more in the bargain than she asks for. She pats her pockets, knowing they're empty, eyes scanning the room. She grabs a few spare alligator clips and wires from Monty's table. "These should be good for lunch."

Octavia pockets them. "Still not enough if Raven wants to eat too."

"Raven definitely wants to eat too," Raven says.

Clarke remembers and reaches down into her boot, pulling out a small dagger. She raises an eyebrow at Octavia, who nodes. Clarke hands it over.

"You sure?" Octavia asks, hefting the small blade in her hand, fingers testing the grip.

"I can get another one," Clarke says. 

Octavia scoffs, perhaps a little unkindly, but accepts this and leads the way outside to the courtyard. 

Raven stretches with her arms over her head once she steps into the open air, tilting to lean off of her braced leg. Everything is cast in dramatic half-shadows as the sun sets and Clarke realizes how hungry she is. In the tower she would just ask a servant for dinner, but she finds she doesn't miss it. She likes the feeling of independence, scrounging up enough to trade for a meal. Maybe that's why Octavia does it instead of enjoying Lexa's hospitality; she's beholden to no one and nothing except what she chooses. Maybe she's trying to keep to the ways that Lincoln taught her, staying close to him even though he chooses to remain in Arkadia. 

"You should stay in the tower," Clarke says, watching her friends work the kinks out of their muscles, glancing around at the crumbling architecture. "You both should. It's way more comfortable."

"Fine by me," says Monty. "I thought it'd be better down here, but it's kind of creepy being alone at night."

"Sure," Raven says. "Who am I to pass up Grounder luxury."

Clarke repeats her offer to Octavia when she returns holding a bag full of fruit, bread, and cheese, but she declines, still preferring to sleep in the forest around the city. So they sit together and eat, a few comments here and there about the things they've seen in Polis, just hanging out like they're not working on a vitally important mystery that might hold the key to their shared past with the Grounders. It's nice, even if Clarke can't really let herself relax all the way.

The shadows have gone long by the time they finish eating. Clarke looks to the tower, ever present at the center of Polis, and feels the tug to return to her room at the top. Her things are there, her mother is there. Lexa is there. 

"We're gonna work for a few more hours then call it a night," Monty says. 

"Do you guys need me to stick around?" Clarke asks, knowing she's been next to useless for the technical stuff, and she's given them all the background she has. But still she wants to be around them, just for the pleasure of seeing her friends again, for that feeling of easy camaraderie, even if it doesn't come quite as easy anymore.

Monty and Raven exchange looks, their eyes plainly saying no.

"Sure," Raven says. "Could be useful to have another set of hands around."

Clarke doesn't exactly beam at her, but the feeling is there all the same.

*

They walk back to the tower just as dusk is giving way to true nightfall, Octavia headed in the opposite direction for the forest. The city is still alight, torches and braziers burning brightly, a few vendors still crying out their wares, a distant tavern sending up pleasant voices into the night. People look at them in their Sky clothes but don't get too close, attended as they are by wanheda and her guards.

The elevator ride up is as creaky and slow as usual and Raven sniffs around the pulleys and chains. "I bet I could spruce this thing up," she says. 

Clarke smiles at her interest. "You can tell Lexa in the morning."

"She has time to hear about an elevator renovation?" Raven asks skeptically.

"I'll tell her," Clarke says, throwing the words out with a little shrug. She doesn't miss how her friends look at each other, repeating some conversation she hasn't been privy to. She knows what they must say about her, choosing to stay in Polis, even if it is under the flag of ambassador.

They don't say anything though, and she shows them around to guest quarters. Monty flops into the large, plush-looking bed before his door can close all the way.

With Raven, Clarke pauses at the door. "Do you mind if I come in and talk?" she asks.

Raven looks surprised, but open to it. "Sure." She sits on the bed, bouncing a few times to test it, once again making that interested mechanic's face.

Clarke perches on one of the chairs nearby. "Feel free to tell me to go float myself, but can I ask you about the City of Light?"

Raven's spine locks up and her mouth turns down, eyes going sharp and narrow. "Why?"

"Because..." Clarke sighs down at her hands, resting on her thighs. "I was there, and it really messed with my head, and I need to talk to someone about it."

The harsh lines of Raven's mouth soften somewhat. "Yeah, I get that."

"What was it like for you?"

Raven cocks her head. "Well. I didn't spend a lot of time there. I got the feeling it was reserved in that weird...afterlife-y vibe way. You know what I mean?"

"I...not really." Clarke is almost apologetic. "I lived there for years. Or it felt like years. But I guess Jaha was just keeping me in storage to get me out of the way."

"Damn," Raven says, eyes widening. "Years?"

"They gave me memories. Put all my friends there. My family. People who died a long time ago." Clarke has to take a moment to swallow the lump forming in the back of her throat.

"Your dad," Raven says quietly.

Clarke sketches out a rough nod, then forces herself to continue in a normal voice. "Finn was there too."

Raven flinches. "Oh."

They sit in silence, everything that Clarke has revealed so far hanging in the air between them. 

Raven is the first to keep going. "So that was pretty fucked up of Jaha to do."

"Yeah." Clarke can hear the bitterness in her voice and feels her anger resurfacing. 

"How long is years?"

Clarke calculates mentally. The memories from the City of Light aren't fading, like a dream normally would. She can recall everything as clearly as the day it happened, maybe a side effect of the memory technology, maybe a reaction to finally finding some peace and happiness and wanting to hold on to it as tightly as possible. "Enough to go back to childhood? I was older there too. Maybe twenty years' worth of memories."

"Shit," Raven murmurs. "Jaha just took away my shitty memories and toyed with my pain perception."

"That sounds awful."

Raven shrugs. "I can cry about it or I can get even."

Clarke grins at that and Raven's return expression is borderline feral, all teeth and promising sneer. 

"So Jaha kept you trapped in some kind of alternate life for twenty years, then when you woke up it was weird?" Raven asks, sounding like she already knows the answer.

"I remember it like it really happened to me," Clarke says. She stares at Raven, her hooded jacket with the sleeves pushed up, her brace strapped over her leg, the dark bags under her eyes. "And we were all happy there. You were happy. And it feels - I know it wasn't real but I miss it sometimes. I don't want to but I do."

"It would be weird if you didn't miss having a perfect life," Raven says. "Who wouldn't want twenty years with me?"

Clarke laughs. "They were all right."

"What was everyone else like?" 

Clarke hesitates; thus far she's resisted really diving into her memories at length, wanting to keep them as separate from the real world as possible. After the incident with Lexa at her door, she knows it's not that easy to push down a lifetime of habit, of muscle memory, of desire. "You were you, essentially," she says. "But I guess, the you that you could have been if nothing bad ever happened to you."

Raven makes an interested noise. Then, a bit contemptuous: "That sounds boring." She props her head up with her hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair. "Who else?"

More hesitation. "Lexa was there."

Raven absorbs this as though she expected it. "And?"

Clarke really did not expect her to be this sanguine. "And we were together," she blurts out, tired of holding it all in, jumping at the opportunity that Raven seems to be giving her. "Not the whole time, but a long time. Long enough to build a life together." She scratches her fingers through her hair, getting caught on the tiny braids. "Why aren't you more surprised by this?"

"Octavia's been watching you guys. She thinks there's something going on between you. And I saw you in the lab." Raven shifts a little, adjusting her leg so it rests more comfortably. "Look, you guys aren't nearly as subtle as you think you are. Anyone who looks at you knows at the very least you're working together. Also, just a thought, maybe don't be seen everywhere together if you don't want people to think you're an item."

"We're not...everywhere..." Clarke mutters resentfully.

"I'm not gonna say I entirely understand it," Raven continues. "But you've been here and I haven't, so whatever. She's got Jaha locked up while we're free and that's enough for me right now."

Clarke feels herself loosening up - it's not outright acceptance, but neither is it a rejection, and she's finding that having her friend continue to talk to her after confessing such a secret is all she really wanted. "We're part of her coalition now," Clarke says. "She wants what's best for us."

Raven still looks skeptical, but does Clarke the favor of not voicing her objections. "If she really cared, she'd send food from Polis to Arkadia."

Clarke feels so much lighter she almost can't believe it. They haven't even discussed what it means to her to have Lexa in her perfect world, or how much she's torn at night between fear and excitement that she might dream up even a remnant of that place. Raven knows how she feels and is still her friend. It's enough, for now. "I'll put it on the list," she says.

*

Someone knocks on her door just as she's about to slip under the covers. "Come in," she calls, expecting her mother, who she hasn't seen all day. But instead a slim arm pokes through, followed by the rest of Lexa, clad in one of her dark nightgowns.

It still surprises Clarke to see her so soft, so open. She never really thought about Lexa the person before Polis, entirely informed by the images she had of Lexa during wartime. She supposes she thought that Lexa just slept in armor, and sprang up from her bed fully kitted out for war. But here she is, thigh peeking out, hair tumbling over her shoulder, eyes lidded and ready for sleep. 

"Hi," Clarke says, sitting on the side of her bed.

Lexa stops by the couch, hands clasped in front of her. "I just came to see what progress you made with Monty and Raven."

"Some. Not a lot," Clarke says. She feels exposed in just her light negligee, wanting to pull on her robe, which she's left at the foot of her bed.

"How long do you think it will take?"

"Honestly..." Clarke remembers her last conversation. "I think you should talk to Raven about that. She'll have the details."

Lexa seems mildly intrigued at Clarke so casually recommending Raven to her, but seems to accept it. "Good. Then I'll see her in the morning." She turns to leave and Clarke suddenly wants her to stay, feelings of exposure notwithstanding.

"Lexa."

She pauses, turns sideways, body leaning back towards Clarke.

"I, uh." It's not like they've been apart all day. She spent the entire morning with Lexa, and then some. 

"Did you enjoy the company of your friends, Clarke?" Lexa asks.

"I feel better when they're around," Clarke says, though that's not what she wants to talk about. She can't figure out what she does want to talk about with Lexa, just that she doesn't want to discuss her friends at the moment. "Thank you for bringing them here."

Lexa dodges her gratitude. "It was necessary that they come. I should thank them for their help."

"We're all in it together," Clarke says. "Wasn't that the point of your coalition?"

"Our coalition," Lexa says automatically. 

They lock eyes for a moment, two people who at least understand each other even if they don't understand the mess they're in. 

"How was the rest of your day?" Clarke asks.

"The other ambassadors grow restless with our Sky visitors." Lexa sounds irritated, as if she wishes she could throw them all off the tower and be done with it. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Clarke asks, sitting up straighter, her first impulse to go work everything out right this minute.

"Without new information, there's nothing to be done," Lexa says, twitching her shoulders in a barely-there shrug. "I redirected their attention to other problems. The world continues in spite of us."

Clarke makes a wry, agreeable face. 

"Did you need anything else, Clarke?" Lexa asks softly. 

She does; she can feel inside that she doesn't want Lexa to leave. She can't quite articulate why, and not to Lexa's face. Not yet. "No. Good night," Clarke says.

"Reshop," Lexa says. 

As the door closes behind her Clarke wishes she'd been brave enough to call Lexa back.


	15. Chapter 15

Monty and Raven are bickering and Clarke is regretting that she thought she needed to join them in their lab. As much as she's trying to make up for lost time in being around her friends, once again she's been next to useless while they work and in the meantime she's grown antsy, knowing there are other things she could be doing back in the tower. Octavia drops in every hour or so but otherwise has taken off into the city, doing whatever she does with her free time, and Clarke is starting think she picked the wiser path.

"At some point," Monty says, "We are actually going to have put that on a person and just turn it on."

"And at some point, that is probably going to trap them in the City of Light or fry their brain or worse," Raven says. "And I will not be responsible for trapping someone in that glittering hellhole."

They both turn to Clarke, who regrets not leaving when she first had the thought. 

"What do you think?" Monty asks.

"There's always going to be an inherent risk in using that thing," Clarke says, and Monty starts to perk up, but then she continues. "Before we use it I'd like to make it as safe as possible."

"So we do it my way," Raven says triumphantly. "I know slow and steady isn't my usual M.O., but quite frankly it's gonna be my ass on the line if Lexa uses this thing and ends up brain dead."

Clarke winces internally. She hadn't really considered that possibility, just that Lexa might be left with the same residual memory issues that Clarke is facing. But it's a neural interface, and brain damage very well could be a risk of using such a thing. 

"I don't suppose Jaha had a user manual nearby?" Monty asks.

Clarke frowns, and Monty mirrors her, clearly not expecting her to grow thoughtful instead of being amused. "No but he's the one who will know the most about it."

"Come on Clarke, you don't need to talk to him anymore. We'll get it," Raven says, but Clarke is already standing up. 

"I can get it faster." She moves towards the door, pauses. "Keep working though. It can't hurt to have a backup plan."

"See, it's you treating interrogation of Jaha as the primary plan that has me worried," Raven says.

"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing," Clarke says, mind already moving towards how she needs to approach Jaha in order to make sure he cooperates.

She spends her walk to the tower going over questions that are most likely to get the most information from him. He's more pliable now, but definitely not trustworthy, and if he figures out what she and the others are doing, may try to trick her into a bad choice.

She still feels slightly queasy thinking so manipulatively of a man who once made her feel safe, someone she used to associate with some of the most positive memories of her life. She sends up a silent apology to Wells for treating his father like this, at the same time hoping deep down he would agree this is necessary.

Lexa is in her throne room when Clarke reaches the top of the tower. She walks in on the tail end of a lesson with the Nightbloods and hangs back, not wanting to interrupt as Lexa asks them to discuss a story about duty. Her eyes flick at Clarke, acknowledging her without stopping the lesson, but her mouth takes on a pleasant little quirk.

Every child gets a chance to speak, Lexa looking encouragingly at the ones who hesitate, and then she eventually dismisses them with instructions to continue discussing the matter amongst themselves. 

A few of them murmur "wanheda" as they file out, headed back to their quarters to get ready for afternoon training. Aden gives her a shy smile, but follows his group without saying anything, and Lexa follows up at the tail end, waiting for the door to shut behind them with her hands folded behind her back.

"What brings you to the tower, Clarke?" Lexa asks, now smiling outright at her.

Clarke hates to bring her down because Lexa doesn't smile nearly enough, but she knows she'll want to be present for this. "I need to ask Jaha some more questions. It's about the device, so you should listen in."

Sure enough Lexa's face goes neutral, and she nods at Clarke, sharp and short. 

They descend to Jaha's cell, the guards stiffening alertly as heda joins them, and take turns looking at him through the barred window in the door. 

Jaha looks slightly better than when last Clarke left him, lying on his back with his head on a thin pillow that someone must have given him recently. The manacles on his wrists are gone, leaving him shackled to the wall by one ankle. He looks like he's lost a bit of weight, but she can see an untouched bowl of food on the floor by the door, so he's not being starved. 

"Any change in him?" Clarke murmurs to Lexa.

"The guards say his appetite is diminished. He hasn't asked for anything or anyone."

They watch him a little longer, but he simply lies there, offering no other clues to his state other than that he seems depressed.

By now they have a routine: Lexa stays out of sight but within hearing range and Clarke enters, pulling the chair from the far wall over to face Jaha. He doesn't bother to sit up.

"How are you?" Clarke asks.

He doesn't reply. It's not the same as his silences during their early interrogations though. He's withdrawn, distant, aware of Clarke's presence but simply not caring. 

"The guards say you're not eating."

Still he stares at the wall.

"You're depressed." She takes a gamble. "You know why? Because you feel guilty for what you did."

That earns a little shift from him, but he still keeps his eyes locked on the wall.

Her tone softens. "That's not a bad thing, Thelonious. Bad people don't feel guilt. That's how I know there's still something inside of you worth helping. Someone who reminds me of the man who raised a person like Wells."

Wells' name definitely gets a rise out of him as he turns his head, eyes focusing and burning into Clarke. "My son," he rasps, "Is not a bargaining chip."

Clarke's face hardens. "Good. If that's how you feel, then you're already not the same man who came here and kidnapped me. The same man who kept me locked inside my own head because I was a threat to him and told me the only way I'd ever feel better is if I locked myself back in."

He's definitely paying attention to her now, dark eyes searching hers, perhaps trying to think of something to say.

"Well you're getting your wish. I'm returning to the City of Light." She leans forward, elbows on her knees. "And you're going to tell me how to get there."

His voice is flat. "Why. Why would you go back." 

"To figure out what Alie wants. Unless you want to tell me. Save me some time."

"I told you. Alie wants a world at peace." His voice is so utterly tired as he says it that it can't possibly be the truth.

"Peace by any means, right?" she asks, biting off the words. "Come on Thelonious. Stop pretending. Stop trying to escape to a fake world and live in this one." The words are strict, but now her voice is low and coaxing, trying to draw him towards her. 

"Be strong. For Wells. That's not a tactic or a bargaining chip. You remember him now, and if you want to go back to never even knowing he existed, then you're saying he didn't matter enough to you to be worth enduring the pain of his loss. That's the truth. I remember Wells because he mattered to me, even though it hurts."

"But he was with you," Jaha says, his voice lowered nearly to a whisper. "I know he was with you in the city. If he mattered to you so much, then why would you ever want to leave him?"

Clarke's look is softly pitying. They both know the answer, but she needs him to say it. Then she'll know he's ready to talk. 

He breathes steadily for a moment while they watch each other, the weight of all their conversations until now dragging them down together. He swallows. "It wasn't really Wells, was it."

"No," Clarke says, full of empathy, and Jaha's slow breath out is full of sad resignation.

He grunts as he pushes himself upright, leaning back against the wall and making his chains clank as he rearranges his legs. "The device used on you is still intact?"

"Completely intact, minus whatever you used to keep me sedated."

He thinks for a moment. "And you have my backpack."

"Yes."

"The power source inside is still intact."

"Yes." 

The faintest of sighs from him, but also real emotion instead of the nothing blankness of before. Already his face is more animated, his eyes a little brighter. "Then you have everything you need. It's a simple system, in terms of hardware. Sedate the subject, attach the device, power it on."

"That's it?" Clarke asks, almost unable to believe it's that easy.

Jaha makes the suggestion of a shrug, either too weak from lack of food and activity or just not able to fully express himself yet. "That's it."

"And once you're under what happens?" 

"Then the programming takes over. The architecture of the last program to be run is probably still loaded onto the device."

Clarke struggles to parse this. "The last thing I experienced on the inside was my therapist's office. The one where you trapped me. There was nothing else outside."

"Then that will be what's loaded."

Clarke frowns. "But you don't know for sure."

"Alie controls everything inside the city," Jaha says, sounding caught between desire and regret. 

"So whoever goes under is going to run into her," Clarke says flatly, keeping her temper under control even though it's flaring hot inside of her. 

Jaha's voice tips towards something almost wry. "It's more than likely."

"Is there any way to fight back against her?" Clarke tries not to think about how helpless and vulnerable and alone she was when Alie found her trying to leave the city. Nothing could have saved her but Jaha's intervention - not her ability to fight, not her wits, not her survival instincts. 

"Inside the City of Light? No. She is creator and keeper, Clarke. She's a god in the city." He grows urgent. "Your only defense is waking up. But that won't stop Alie from punishing you while you're with her."

Clarke can recall instances of real pain from her other life - getting a cut from a knife, stubbing her toe, bumping her head. She has no doubt that an AI with access to her brain could stimulate her pain centers at will, or manipulate her emotions. But she puts on a brave, almost smug face for Jaha. "Let me worry about that. You focus on yourself. Eat. I'll send my mom to check on you."

And then Jaha gives her something she hasn't seen in so very long: a real, albeit tired, smile. Like Clarke has just come over to visit Wells and play a little chess. "You always take care of everyone, Clarke. Don't forget to take care of yourself too. Alie is dangerous. Don't try to fight her on her own grounds."

It's enough. Clarke stands up, but only so she can walk over to the bowl of food and bring it back to Jaha, pressing it into his hands. "Eat," is her only response to his advice.

Once outside the cell, Lexa looks somberly at Clarke. "It seems we have much to plan."

*

They retreat to Lexa's room. The things Clarke will have to tell her, it's better left between only them, with no chance anyone else will overhear.

Lexa settles into her usual place on the couch, tucked against the arm, her dark fur blanket draped behind her. She folds her legs up under her body, making herself as small as Clarke has ever seen her. Everywhere else she has to stand straight, project, keep her shoulders brought, chin up, eyes unflinching. In the privacy of her bedroom she just curls up and waits for Clarke to start speaking.

Clarke takes the other end of the couch, also pulling up her legs and hugging them with her arms. "I don't think you should do it anymore."

Lexa waits, eyebrows lifting.

"It's too dangerous. You heard Jaha. Alie is in total control in the City of Light."

"I wouldn't be alone," Lexa says. "The other commanders would be with me. Perhaps we'd outnumber her."

Clarke hesitates. She knows what Lexa means, and thinks it's superstition, but at the same time the science says that maybe she has a point. Memory, recall - those are tools that Lexa would have on the inside that Clarke didn't, assuming her neural implant protected her. Still. "We already know enough of Alie's plan," she argues. 

"Do we?" 

"She wants to pacify everyone. Get us living in some kind of...happy utopia where no one can cause trouble."

"By what means? To what end?" Lexa shifts, her body leaning forward. "We must know more. We must be able to cut off her power at its source, and we must be able to predict and neutralize any agents she has left."

"But you'll be defenseless," Clarke argues. "What if Alie hurts you? What if she _kills_ you? Lexa we don't know what happens if you die while you're connected to that device. You could end up brain dead."

"Clarke, many of my people still believe in Jaha as their prophet. They still resist my laws. I can't keep them locked away forever from their families, their lives." Lexa's voice grows firm, a tone Clarke knows means she's utterly convinced of her path. "If I die in service of them, so be it. You forget, that is a duty the commander must always be prepared to face. And your people will still be well taken-care of by the next commander."

"I don't care about the next commander," Clarke says, exasperated. "I'm concerned about you. Just you, Lexa."

Lexa pulls back, eyes wide, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. 

"You're a human life," Clarke mumbles, looking down at her knees. "You have value because of that, not just because you're heda."

"Clarke." Lexa's voice is soft with regret. "We both know the moment I became heda, that became the identity I would carry until the end of my days."

"I think I'd probably like you more if you weren't heda, actually," Clarke says rather primly, trying to make a joke out of it.

But to her surprise Lexa's blush deepens. She looks astonishingly young like this, just a girl blushing prettily because of a compliment, and Clarke realizes she has no idea how old Lexa really is. Not much older than her, but sometimes it feels like there's lifetimes between them. An old soul, her father would say.

"I believe the flame will protect me," Lexa says, trying to keep them on track.

"You can't know that for sure."

"We are taught that is what the flame does. It guides us and instructs us," Lexa says, and in the firmness of her conviction Clarke also hears that warning that tells her she's treading on Grounder beliefs again and she should stop before she goes too far. 

"We know you're linked. What if the flame just brings you under her control instead?" Clarke tries to argue. There's not much else to say to someone who has so little regard for their own safety. 

"I trust you to know who I am. If I wake up but I'm no longer myself, you'll know."

Her chest fills with warmth at this show of trust, and she feels it spread into her belly and all through her arms and legs and up into her face and then she's blushing to match Lexa. 

"Clarke." Lexa's voice draws her eyes back up, the way she says it pleading with Clarke to look at her. "What will I see in the City of Light?"

"I don't know," Clarke says. "When I left, it was mostly blank. There was just one room they were keeping me in. But..." She knows she has to tell Lexa everything, give her every possible bit of information she can use. She takes a breath. "It could be an entire city. And there might be parts...remnants..." She can't really think of the right word so she struggles on. "Things I left behind that you'll see and recognize because they'll include you."

Lexa nods slowly, thoughtfully, giving her the space to continue without making any assumptions.

"We. I. I had a whole life in the city," Clarke says. She forces herself to look at Lexa while she speaks, because this involves her too now. "With you. We were together for years. We were happy, and things only fell apart because I think deep down, my brain rejected that happiness."

Lexa's mouth tightens almost imperceptibly, but Clarke knows that she's hurt by the admission. 

"I mean," Clarke continues, trying to get Lexa to understand that the problem was never her, that she was the foundation of Clarke's perfect world. "I think it's been so long since I was truly happy, without worrying about anyone else, that my brain couldn't handle it. I had everything I could ever want and I didn't...I guess I didn't believe that was possible."

"Clarke," Lexa says. She says Clarke's name all the time, and can imbue that single syllable with so many different meanings. This one is soothing, understanding. "You deserve to be happy. But your ability to accept that some happiness isn't meant for you is what makes you a great leader. Your people's happiness is what comes first, and there is no shame in that."

"But I don't..." Clarke's voice catches as she realizes what she was about to blurt out. She looks away. 

"My first year as heda, I dreamt about running away almost every day," Lexa says. 

Clarke stares at her. "How old were you?"

"I had just turned sixteen. My birthday was the week before the Conclave." She says it with the factual tone she always uses to talk about herself, as though reciting from a textbook. "Costia was still alive and I still thought-" Now she has to look away, gathering up her words. "-perhaps we would have a life together. She was distracting."

"In a good way though," Clarke says with a little smile.

"In a good way," Lexa agrees.

They rest on the couch in silence, absorbing the things they've said, looking at each other with the new eyes that come from learning about each other. 

"I know you don't believe in our traditions," Lexa says at last, "But I'm asking you to trust me, not our beliefs."

"I do trust you," Clarke says right away. "But I'm worried about you too."

"Then worry, but don't let it stop us both from doing what we have to do," Lexa says gently. 

Clarke pulls a face and squeezes her knees. "I can try."

"Good." Lexa unfolds herself and pulls a leather-bound folio from her table. She opens it, revealing a sheaf of blank paper, and holds it out to Clarke. "Now I need your skills not as an artist, but as a mapmaker. Draw out the city for me?"

Clarke accepts the folio, feeling the softness of the leather against her fingers. Nestled in its spine is a thin stick of charcoal, and the paper is smooth and regular, a much finer quality than the rough sheets Lexa had brought for after they ate lunch together.

"I had it made for you," Lexa says. "I'm sorry your first time using it has to be for duty, and not for pleasure."

"For me?" Clarke says, unable to stop tracing her fingers over the paper. She looks at Lexa, who seems embarrassed by her admission. "When?"

"It doesn't matter. You needed a sketchbook." Lexa flicks her eyes down at the paper. "The map?"

"Right, of course." Clarke picks up the charcoal, unable to stop herself from smiling broadly.


	16. Chapter 16

Clarke remembers the city like the back of her hand. Or she can recall parts of it with astonishing clarity; the rest is slightly hazy. She can conjure the general layout but she spent most of her time going back and forth between her apartment, her studio, and Lexa's office. Everything she needed was generally within those three main points, although there were occasional forays into new parts of the city and visits to her friends and family. 

She wonders now if keeping her confined to certain locations most of the time was a way for Alie to save on processor power. She doesn't like thinking of it in those terms, even if that's exactly what it was, because it's like everything she experienced and felt and suffered is just lines of code. She doesn't know if she can detach from it like that, or if she even wants to. It meant more than that to her, more than just a simulation to keep her occupied. It was decades of her life, _their_ life.

But she maps out what she remembers, and labels things for Lexa, trying not to be embarrassed about pointing at their apartment. It helps that she first has to explain to Lexa what an apartment is, and then gets to watch Lexa try out the word in applying it to her room in the tower. 

Lexa also seems charmed by the notion that she was in charge of parks, or as Clarke explained, maintaining outdoors areas for people to enjoy. 

"It sounds as though life was idyllic," Lexa says, fingers tracing lightly over the map. Clarke is busy sketching something from street level, just so Lexa will have an idea of what the buildings and streets will be like. It's almost cathartic, getting it all out on paper, and she draws quickly from memory with a firm hand.

"It wasn't all bad," Clarke says, able to admit it with only Lexa around to hear.

"You seem to have chosen a something I would have liked, if I never became heda." Lexa continues turning the map, getting it oriented in her head.

Clarke stops drawing so she can watch her. "Oh?"

"Working in service of others, but for their enjoyment. The care and knowledge of our forests is noble work." 

She sounds so pleased by the idea Clarke can't bear to tell her the parks were on a much smaller scale than that, though her city self did love trees. Lexa was forever pushing to increase allotted park space; her ultimate dream had been something more on the scale of an ecological preserve. For a moment the Lexa in front of her blurs, looking so much like city Lexa, engrossed in the idea of nature. Clarke has to blink a few times, reminding herself where she sits, why they're here, who this really is. 

"You were pretty happy with your job," Clarke confirms.

"And everyone you lost that you loved was with you," Lexa says in a much quieter voice. Her eyes are unfocused, no longer taking in the map, and Clarke is struck by a thought.

"You might see Costia there," she says, as gently as possible. 

Lexa seems to snap out of it, eyes darting to Clarke, then back to the map. "The dead are gone."

"But we always carry a part of them with us, or Alie wouldn't be able to create versions of them in the city," Clarke says. 

Lexa shifts on the couch, pulling away subtly. "I'll be prepared for the possibility, Clarke."

"She'll seem real. In every way she'll feel real to you." Clarke realizes belatedly she's giving away more of her own experiences but it's too late to stop now, and Lexa will need this information in the city.

"No more real than what I imagined after Costia died." Lexa lets out a breath and lightly tosses the map onto the table. "Are you hungry?"

Clarke notices the candles have burnt down into stubs, and her hand is tired. She flexes it a few times, grateful to take a break and that Lexa doesn't seem inclined to dig much deeper into her experiences. "Yes. Dinner?"

"I've invited your friends to dine. We need to share information," Lexa says. She goes a bit shy. "And I gather you would enjoy their presence."

Clarke smiles at her. "I would. Thank you."

Lexa smiles back at her, the tiniest little lift to her mouth. 

*

Perhaps it's that she's finally adjusted to Clarke making decisions without her; perhaps it's that most of the risk falls on Lexa. Perhaps it's that Raven, Monty, and Octavia are also at the table, happily eating their fill of venison and potatoes and she doesn't want to ruin their dinner. Whatever the reason, Abby listens very calmly to the plan and then says, "If you think this is your only option, then I'll start prepping for sedation."

Clarke, who was prepared for a bit of a fight, sits back in her chair while Lexa just watches the both of them, methodically cutting up her food and chewing. It reminds her of when Lexa would side with Abby against her in a fight and it feels just as weird now as it did then. "Oh. Thank you."

"Lexa, we'll need to talk about sedative options," Abby says. Clarke is prepared for another clash between Sky science and Grounder medicine, but Abby skips right over it. "Some of your healers say there's a good root you use as a sleep aid? Maybe that could be useful to us."

Lexa looks pleasantly surprised. "I will have as much as you need brought to you."

"Can I get in on that," Raven says, gesturing with her fork.

"Of course. You are my guests. Whatever it is within my power to provide," Lexa says graciously.

Raven narrows her eyes at the offer and being called a guest, but doesn't comment other than to thank Lexa, and continues eating. 

Clarke watches her mother carefully for the rest of the meal, but she doesn't seem inclined to bring up any dissenting points to the plan. She talks calmly with Lexa, mostly asking questions about things she's learned from the healers and what she's seen of the city, and Lexa seems content to answer everything. 

Octavia even chimes in every now and then, mentioning things she's seen and done in Polis so far, and it's as close to a family dinner as Clarke has gotten since the city that she has to run through her list of what's real again. Polis is real. Her father is dead. Lexa is real. But not hers. 

Afterwards they scatter to their rooms. When Lexa looks over her shoulder at Clarke, she nods reassuringly, a note that she'll be along shortly to talk. In the meantime, Clarke follows her mother to her room, entering without asking and starting to pace a little in front of the bed. 

"What's going on, honey?" Abby asks, watching her from where she stands by the door. 

Clarke folds her arms. "It's too dangerous for Lexa to go."

Once again Abby doesn't react as Clarke expected, instead pulling her over to the couch to sit down. "I think you're right," she says.

Clarke is even more confused than she was at dinner.

"Lexa is too important to take a risk this big on the off chance she may discover more information about what Thelonious - I mean, Alie was planning." Abby almost laughs at Clarke's mouth hanging open. "Don't look so surprised. People can change."

"I just...I guess I didn't realize you were changing," Clarke says apologetically. She really hasn't spent as much time with her mom as she should, but they're both always doing something in different parts of the city. 

"The healers here are more advanced than we - than I gave them credit for," Abby says, who to her credit seems properly chagrined by her assumptions. "The knowledge they've managed to retain over the years, combined with their own family medicine practices, it's...impressive." 

"But you still agreed to help Lexa use the device."

"I'm not going to be able to convince her of anything if you couldn't." Abby raises an eyebrow. "And I assume you already tried."

Clarke looks away, knowing she's revealing more by her embarrassment than she should, but unable to think of her recent time with Lexa in any other way than as personal. 

"That's what I thought. So. I'll help, and at least that way I can keep an eye on things and revive her if things get bad." 

Clarke lunges forward on the couch, wrapping her mom in a two-armed hug. Abby leans back a little in surprise, but almost immediately circles Clarke with her arms too. 

"What's this for?" Abby asks, smoothing down Clarke's hair.

"I'm really glad you're here in Polis," Clarke says. 

"I'm happy that you're happy here," Abby says, and sounds like she means it. 

"I am. Thank you." 

Abby seems to tense up, before squeezing Clarke again, one hand rubbing her shoulder a few times. "Was Lexa in the City of Light? When you were trapped there?" She asks simply, without judgment, and as though she already knows the answer but wants Clarke to tell her.

And Clarke finds that she does want to tell her mom, something she couldn't imagine happening even a month ago. Polis has been good for both of them. "She was there," Clarke says. "With you and dad. All my friends. Wells. Finn." 

A deep breath, but not as deep as she might have taken before she opened up to her mom and Raven and Lexa. It doesn't exactly feel good to say their names out loud, but it doesn't feel so terribly wrong anymore. 

"I'm sorry, honey." Abby continues stroking her hair. "You've handled it well. As well as anyone can."

"You help," Clarke says. She has to get up in a minute and go try one more time to convince Lexa she's taking an unnecessary risk, but for that minute, she can snuggle into her mother like she's a child again and feel comforted and loved.

*

Lexa is halfway ready for bed when Clarke comes to her room. Her braids are out and her hair is loose around her shoulders; her coat is stored away and she's only her shirt and pants. She has one boot off when she stands up and looks patently ridiculous, listing slightly to one side between bare left foot and booted right one. 

"Hi," Clarke says, walking in a few more steps but keeping a certain radius of distance between them. 

Lexa sits back down on the side of her bed, reaching down to tug at the straps of her boot. "I assume you're here to convince me not to use the device."

Not for the first time, Clarke wonders just how much Lexa knows about what is going on in her tower, or if she's just that transparent. "It's not worth it."

"I believe it is," Lexa says simply. She continues tugging at the strap, trying to dig under it with a fingernail. "Clarke, a commander's life is not easily spent, but it is sometimes the only currency that will pay. I carry the flame, therefore I must go."

"Your life is not a _number_ ," Clarke says, anger flaring, sudden and hot. She stalks over to Lexa, brushing her hands away and taking over removal of the boot. Clarke easily wiggles the strap loose and yanks it off, perhaps a little rougher than she means to. She drops it to the ground and they're left staring at each other, Lexa seated in front of her, and just as suddenly as her anger manifested, a sense of longing and memory cuts through her. 

"Clarke." Lexa's voice is small, uncertain, half a question buried in the way she says the name.

"You matter to me because of who you are, not what you can do for me," Clarke says, trying so hard to make her believe it. 

"Me, or what you remember from the City of Light?" Lexa asks, continuing to stare up at her.

Clarke goes very still and very quiet. "That's not fair."

"I see how you look at me sometimes, Clarke. As though you expect me to do one thing instead of another. As though I should be someone you know."

"That's not fair," Clarke insists again. "You can't blame me for what Jaha did to me."

"I'm not blaming you," Lexa says, voice calm, although Clarke can see the increasing rise and fall of her chest. "I want to be fair to you. I will never be the person from your paradise. I can never..." As her voice trails off Clarke can see the uncertainty seeping into her expression. Clarke realizes she's shown Lexa, in dozens of small ways, from kissing her to telling her about the absolute _realness_ of the city, that she should be uncertain. To her Clarke must seem a person still trapped between worlds. In that moment she chooses: this is her life. She can't let the memories of another lifetime ruin this one. 

Clarke ghosts her hands over Lexa's shoulders, just barely skimming the thin black fabric there, drifting down to her hands. "You of all people should know I could never accept a fantasy life. I wasn't built for paradise."

Lexa looks away at that. 

"I know what's real. Sometimes it's hard and I have to remind myself, but I do know what's real and what isn't."

"You deserve..."

"We both deserve things we might never have," Clarke says. Her hands hover close to Lexa's, so close she can feel when Lexa tenses them against her thighs. "What is this really about, Lexa?" 

"You must be prepared for the possibility that I will die. There may come a time when someone will have to make a decision about my life." Lexa blinks slowly, her face so solemn, focused entirely on Clarke. "If that happens, don't be afraid. Titus will know what to do."

"Titus can take a long float from a short airlock," Clarke says reflexively. "I won't let anyone just turn you off. You're not expendable."

At last, Lexa's hands slip up into Clarke's, holding on loosely. "But I am, Clarke," she says with the assuredness of someone who has long since come to terms with the idea. 

"Not to me," Clarke says. A breath heaves out of her and then she leans down, pressing her lips softly to Lexa's, trying to show her that Clarke is here for her, here _with_ her, and only her.

It takes a long moment for Lexa to kiss her back and Clarke pulls away, confused, only to find Lexa staring up at her as though poleaxed, eyes wide in wonder. 

"Lexa," Clarke says, touching her face, fingers leaving a trail down Lexa's jaw. She leans down again and this time Lexa is ready for her, tilting her chin up, hands going to Clarke's waist and pulling her closer. Her mouth opens under Clarke's and she slips her tongue against Lexa's and it's almost what she remembers but it's also utterly new and thrilling, and hot and wet and Clarke is squirming forward until she's straddling Lexa on the bed.

Just when their kisses start to turn sloppy, Clarke braces herself with her hands on Lexa's shoulders. Her eyes search Lexa's face, still a little dazed. Lexa is taking in shallow panting breaths through her open mouth and her chest is heaving and she's holding on to Clarke like she might disappear at any moment. 

"Hey." Clarke drops a kiss onto Lexa's cheek, just under her eye. She repeats the kiss on the other side. "It's just me."

Lexa just barely shakes her head, a miniscule movement of denial, but her eyes stay focused on Clarke. 

"It's just me," Clarke repeats, caressing Lexa's face, smoothing her hair back, thumb lingering on Lexa's cheek and rubbing back and forth there. She buries her face in the crook of Lexa's neck, inhaling the warm smell of her: leather, beeswax, something fresh from the water she used to wash her face before bed. 

Lexa's hands slide flat up her back, holding Clarke in place. "Clarke," she says, and this time Clarke answers the question with a quiet kiss to Lexa's neck, then another, and another, trailing up to her ear. 

"I'm here," Clarke whispers, feeling Lexa shudder underneath her. "We're here."

This time when she pulls back she cradles Lexa's face in her hands and pulls her up for a kiss, and Lexa kisses back, at first with a warm and deliberate softness, but then with growing urgency.

"Will you stay?" Lexa asks between kisses, the faintest crack in her voice.

Clarke presses their foreheads together, nodding. "Yes," she murmurs against Lexa's mouth.

She pushes Lexa down onto the bed, feeling all at once that she's stuck in a long deja vu and yet experiencing it for the first time together. The old Lexa, the unreal one, she was more comfortable with Clarke's body, more prone to take charge. The Lexa beneath her is a girl about Clarke's age, hands wandering unsteadily, following Clarke's lead and seemingly content to stay that way. She pauses before she touches Clarke anywhere new and stays above her shirt and her waistband and finally Clarke has had enough and sits up just long enough to strip off her shirt.

Lexa's eyes go almost comically wide, like she just wasn't expecting her night to go this way. Neither was Clarke, but she finds that she wants this for no other reason than that she wants this person, who wants her in return, and it's such a refreshingly easy feeling with an easy solution. 

She hears Lexa whisper her name once more before they fall asleep, or she thinks she does, drowsy and warm and nestled in Lexa's soft bed. She still sounds amazed by it all, and Clarke is just thinking she wants to turn over and kiss a reassurance into Lexa's mouth before she drifts off.


	17. Chapter 17

Clarke wakes up without remembering her dreams. She feels rested, slightly too warm. She kicks a little at the covers to get air on her feet.

Behind her, Lexa makes a small waking-up sound that has Clarke smiling and shifting as gently as she can until she can roll over. She watches as Lexa dozes on her stomach, her hair in a wild tangle around her head, face smooth and peaceful. For the first time Clarke can see clearly just how much responsibility weighs on her and changes and shapes her.

She wonders if Costia ever watched Lexa like this, early in the morning, sunrise beginning to glow through the window, golden light slowly creeping along the bare skin of Lexa's back. She feels a pang of sorrow for that young love, for the life they never got to have together. For the person Lexa was before she suffered such a cruel loss. 

Soon, Lexa exhales and her eyes crack open to find Clarke already awake. A sleepy smile spreads across her face and she burrows deeper into her pillow. 

"Good morning," Clarke says, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the quiet too much. Right now, with the city still half-asleep, it could be just the two of them in the whole world with nothing and no one to bother them. 

Lexa doesn't reply, but continues to watch Clarke with adoring eyes, the corners crinkled up from her smile. 

Clarke scoots closer to her, letting their legs slide together under the covers, and enjoys the feeling of being close to Lexa - the real Lexa, who argues with her and challenges her and sometimes makes her walk away in frustration. 

The sun continues to rise, and soon most of the bed is bathed in light, warming them both until Lexa finally pushes down the covers all the way so their skin can get some air. She promptly ruins the effect by sliding half on top of Clarke and pressing a soft kiss onto her lips. 

"You're affectionate in the morning," Clarke says, pleased by the attention.

"Should I not share my affection with you?" Lexa asks, but Clarke can tell she's teasing, and she pulls Lexa's head down.

They're interrupted mid-kiss by a knock on the door. Clarke jerks a little in surprise, but Lexa just lets her head fall to the pillow next to Clarke and groans quietly. "My handmaidens," she says.

"Better not keep them waiting," Clarke says, trying to see the humor in it but still unhappy to not get more time alone with Lexa. She pulls away and sits up at the side of the bed, already looking for her clothes, and feels calloused fingers trace down her back.

"I can dismiss them. Stay, Clarke."

She wants to. She wants to crawl back in bed with Lexa and have food brought and ignore everything else. But now that she's up and she knows there are people waiting just outside the door she can't pretend that they're anything but what they are. "Things to take care of," she says.

The touch vanishes, and she hears Lexa rustling on her side of the bed. She busies herself pulling on her old clothes, not looking at Lexa as she moves around the room. It's only when she's finally tugging her shirt into place, pulling her hair from the collar, that she turns around. 

Lexa stands in front of the windows in a dark robe, hands behind her back. Perhaps she was giving Clarke her privacy.

"I'll..." Clarke doesn't know how to leave without making it awkward. "I'll see you later?"

Lexa turns around and raises her eyebrows at Clarke. "The morning meeting?"

She honestly forgot about it, preoccupied with preparing for dealing with the device and the City of Light and Alie. "Right. I'll see you there."

Lexa nods once and returns to her window, poised and aloof, and Clarke aches for the woman who just looked at her with such soft eyes and inviting smile. But she can only blame herself for this.

She slips out, finding a pair of rather surprised handmaidens on the other side, both waiting next to steaming pails of fragrant water.

"Oh, wanheda," one of them says, blushing.

The other also blushes, but says nothing, and Clarke continues on her way, hoping that she hasn't just become the latest in the Polis gossip mill. Lexa would never keep indiscreet handmaidens, but she has a feeling she can only get caught leaving Lexa's room in the morning so many times before word gets around.

*

She starts to feel uncertain as she goes through her morning routine, washing herself off with a bucket of warm water brought by another servant, pulling on her clothes for the day, walking slowly to the throne room. What is Lexa like, the morning after? In bed she was sweet, almost playful. Clarke would have never pegged her for the type to want to laze all day, but when she thinks about it, such a thing must be so rare for Lexa. Perhaps she saw her opportunity and wanted to take it. Clarke regrets leaving now, regrets not listening to Lexa and staying in the moment while she could. They may not get many moments, with what's about to happen. Perhaps Lexa is better at recognizing when to take advantage of something that may never exist again.

The throne room is almost full when she arrives, the other ambassadors already drifting towards their seats. Tara nods to her from her seat, and Clarke inclines her head in return before sinking into her seat nearest the throne. 

It's only a minute more before the guards cry to make way for Lexa, who enters at her usual brisk pace, once again dressed immaculately as the commander. 

Clarke finds it hard to focus on the meeting, preoccupied with memories of the night before. Like her city self, Lexa is a generous lover, but she was less familiar with Clarke's body, less open about her own desires. She didn't automatically know what Clarke wanted, almost before she knew she wanted it. Clarke had to tell her what felt good, had to ask her what she liked, had to experiment with her mouth and-

"Wanheda?" asks another ambassador, and Clarke finally responds to the title, trying hard not to blush that she was caught remembering the woman on the throne not ten feet from her as she threw her head back in passion.

"Mmm?" She tries to look like she was just deliberating on her response but she can tell from the skeptical faces around her everyone knows she was drifting. A few seats down, Tara smirks at her.

"Skaikru is ready to share their farming knowledge with the coalition? You did say you had old farming methods?" Baram asks, a hint of sneer in his voice. 

It's completely skipped Clarke's mind to arrange for Sky observers to go out with escorts from the various clans to look at their farming methods for a knowledge exchange. "Yes, we just need to finalize the group that will travel from Arkadia," Clarke says to buy herself a little time. 

"There is no crop harvest in the immediate future, so we still have some time," Lexa says, and that seems to quell any further questions for the time being.

Clarke does her best to pay attention for the rest of the meeting, not keen on getting caught out again. And she's here for her people, who deserve better than her distraction. 

Tara throws her one last amused glance as the meeting ends and the ambassadors start to file out, splitting into smaller groups and talking amongst themselves. Clarke keeps her face as steadfastly neutral as possible; bad enough the servants are probably whispering through the grapevine by now. She doesn't need the other ambassadors to know about her private life, and she suspects it would cause a multitude of problems if Lexa were discovered to be in a relationship with one of them. They'll have to talk about it later.

But Lexa also sweeps out of the room, sparing a nod for Clarke but otherwise going on her way. 

Clarke tries to readjust her expectations; they're both working right now, heda and ambassador. She can't expect Lexa to stop what she's doing and join Clarke for lunch under their favorite tree, or tell her staff that she needs a minute with her girlfriend. Clarke was the one who left this morning. Lexa is just keeping to their boundaries.

She takes herself off to see about finding a messenger to Arkadia to bring over the farming group, hoping that Octavia will be up to a quick trip back. She knows Octavia misses Lincoln fiercely but they're still at loggerheads on how to navigate their new life - him fitting in at Arkadia and her learning to love Polis. At least now they have a rover, so it'll be fast.

Octavia is nowhere to be found, though. Raven just shrugs when Clarke walks into the lab where she and Monty are pointing to a laptop screen and discussing something. 

"She's probably with Indra," Raven says.

But Clarke doesn't know how to find Indra either. Lexa would know where she is, but Clarke doesn't want to intrude on her business. 

At the very least, she can hop on the radio in the rover, which is parked in a bay at the base of the tower and kept under light guard to dissuade curious citizens from getting too close. Clarke nods to the guards at the entrance to the bay and climbs into the rover, flipping on the radio and tuning it to Arkadia's frequency. She grabs the mic and clicks the button to talk.

"Polis to Arkadia. Come in Arkadia."

She waits a minute, then repeats her request. This time the radio crackles back, a slightly surprised voice greeting her. "This is Arkadia. We read you Polis." A pause. "Clarke?"

She looks at the mic in her hand. "Jasper?"

"Yeah." He does not sound especially happy to hear her voice. "What do you want?"

"Um." She doesn't know how to navigate this, not when she hasn't seen Jasper since she and Lexa brought Nia's body to Arkadia, and she'd spent most of that visit with her mom and Kane and Lexa. "I need to talk to Kane."

"Hold on." 

Clarke waits; so long, in fact, she almost worries that Jasper has just dropped her from the line and pretended she never called. But then the radio crackles again and she hears Kane's voice.

"Clarke, this Kane. Over."

She explains to him about the farm project, and smiles to herself as she can hear him getting audibly excited over the line at the idea. He's taken to the cultural exchange like a fish to water and he promises to have a group assembled and ready by tomorrow. She promises to send the rover back with Octavia and fills him in on a few other things and realizes she's felt a bit adrift from her own people. Having her friends and her mom in Polis helps, but she needs to visit Arkadia soon. 

After the call she wants to go find Lexa, but again she curbs the impulse without an official reason to see her. Lunch is a slightly lonely affair spent in her quarters, trying not to relive last night over and over. Sketching is no help; the gifted folio only reminds her of Lexa, and there are still a few half-done maps of the city among the pages. 

Finally, a servant comes to her door, telling her that heda requests Clarke's presence in her room. 

Clarke tries not to rush, but there's so much to say, things she probably should have said this morning. But when she enters Lexa's room, they're not alone - Abby is sitting on the couch, just packing up a small kit bag. For some reason it stings to see Lexa allowing someone else into her room, a place that Clarke was staring to feel was just for the two of them. "Mom?"

"Clarke," Lexa says, standing smoothly from the other end of the couch, shoulder guard and coat discarded in favor of her day-to-day shirt and pants. "Abby has decided on the best method for sedating me. Are Raven and Monty ready with the device?"

"I..." Clarke was not prepared for this at all. She thought she'd have another day at least. "They're still running tests on it, but you heard Jaha. There's not much else they can do."

"Then we are ready," Lexa says. 

Clarke can hardly keep up. She's still on her back heel finding her mother in Lexa's room, evidently having a personal conversation, and now Lexa is ready to plug herself into the device. They were just together in bed this morning, murmuring inconsequential things to each other like new lovers do. "Wait," she says, a bit helplessly.

To her surprise Lexa does just that, pausing on her way to the door. 

Abby looks from her daughter to Lexa, then back, and promptly excuses herself. "I'll be waiting in the throne room," she tells Lexa, and squeezes Clarke's arm before she slips out.

When it's just the two of them again, Lexa folds her hands behind her back and looks expectantly at Clarke.

"This is happening really fast," Clarke says. "You met with my mom?"

"Abby has given me a medical examination," Lexa says, her lip curling slightly, as though not enjoying the memory of it. "If the device is ready, there is nothing left to prepare."

"Can we just-" Clarke flaps her hands against her legs. "Just think about this. Really think about it. Shouldn't we tell the other ambassadors? What if something goes wrong?"

"Should the worst happen, Titus will explain, and then they'll convene the Conclave," Lexa says, eminently reasonable. "Telling the ambassadors will not change what's about to happen."

"But..." Clarke can't think of anything else to use here, except to ask Lexa not to go because it's Clarke asking, and that isn't fair to either one of them. She knows - she _knows_ this is for the good of their people and maybe Lexa would back down for her sake, but they would both feel the wrongness of it inside.

"Clarke," Lexa says, voice soft. She comes closer, until she can touch the back of Clarke's hand with her fingertips. "It's time."

"I don't..." Clarke extends her fingers and twines them with Lexa's. "We just found each other."

Lexa squeezes, letting Clarke feel the reassuring strength in her grip. "You could not be held in the City of Light. Trust that the same is true for me. The flame will protect me."

Clarke stares into her wide eyes, completely open, asking for her trust. She can't let Lexa go into the City of Light with this hanging between them. "Okay," she says, even though she still wants to complain and argue. "I'm with you."

Lexa's lopsided smile is the one she only allows Clarke to see, the one that slowly spreads out until her entire face is transformed and she looks so young and new that Clarke can almost believe they're just two people falling in love, without any of their baggage or the complications of their positions. Almost.

"We will meet again," Lexa says. She sounds as sure of it as she has about anything. Clarke wishes she could believe her.

*

Now that they have a course of action, everything starts to roll forward very quickly. 

Monty and Raven finish their diagnostics while Abby and Lexa have one last medical discussion with Lexa's personal healer in attendance. Clarke wants to be there with her, but she still adheres to the ideals of patient privacy and waits instead in her room.

Servants come to fetch her once Lexa is ready, and they meet at the elevator, Abby at Lexa's elbow, surrounded by the usual guards.

Lexa is once again in her commander regalia, perhaps as a way to fortify herself for what's to come. She nods at Clarke, short and professional, but Clarke can tell she's nervous. 

The ride down is interminably slow, and Clarke doesn't know how Lexa keeps from fidgeting the whole way. She just stands there with her hands folded in front of her and Clarke tries to match her stillness. Once at the bottom the guards lead the way to Raven and Monty's lab. To anyone they pass, it must look like heda is out on business, just another day in Polis, but to Clarke it feels like all eyes are on them, as though everyone must know they're off to do something incredibly dangerous and risky. 

It's all happening so fast. There should be more fanfare, more build up. Not this simple procession from one task to the next. Wake up, morning meeting, reconnaissance mission into the world of a crazy AI to discover what her plans are for humanity. Clarke can barely keep up.

Lexa doesn't dawdle; her stride is the usual purposeful clip, and in no time at all they're entering the lab.

Raven and Monty have set up a rig similar to the one used to hold Clarke; she's glad she doesn't really have memories of being a prisoner, still too groggy from the sedative to notice the details of her surroundings. But she remembers there was a gurney of some kind, and now there's a cot covered in a few blankets in the center of this windowless room with the device laid out at its head, wires trailing up to a laptop on the work table.

Lexa takes it all in, eyes scanning the cot and the machine and the table, then Raven and Monty with their matching anxious expressions. Abby sets up by the cot, unrolling a small mat filled with syringes, and pulling out bottles, not all of which look like they came from the Ark. She's been busy with Polis' healers indeed.

Finally, Lexa turns to Clarke, who steps closer to her, lowering her voice. "You don't have to do this," she says, trying one last time. 

Lexa looks at her with that damned understanding of hers. "Clarke," she says. It's everything they've discussed and argued over in the past few days.

Clarke reaches up to touch her cheek, not caring who sees. "Okay." Her hand lingers. "You remember the maps I drew for you?"

"We are as prepared as we can be," Lexa says. Clarke can feel her lean subtly into the touch, so subtly that no one can see how she pushes back with the most minute pressure.

The guards are impassive as always and Abby is busy with her setup, while Monty looks away politely. Raven stares at the two of them, but in the way of a woman figuring out the answer to a complex question. 

Lexa unclips her shoulder guard so she can lie down comfortably, but instead of handing it off to one of her escorts, she gives it to Clarke. "For when I wake up," she says in a near whisper, just for Clarke.

Clarke's hand brushes over Lexa's as she takes it, trying to let the touch speak for her. 

Then Lexa is firmly heda, nodding to her guards, turning to the cot, lying down slowly and carefully before rolling up her sleeve so Abby can access her vein. Clarke watches her, trying not to look as troubled as she feels if only so Lexa can maintain her facade of confidence. 

Abby takes her arm, cleansing the crook of her elbow with a swab, and looks into her eyes one last time. Lexa's nod is as reassuring as it is commanding, and Clarke can see how her mother's hand is steady on the syringe she uses to draw the sedative. 

Raven moves to the device and begins arranging its connections, attaching them to points on Lexa's head that correspond to the now-healed spots on Clarke's skin that grew irritated from days of whatever adhesive they used. Monty begins typing at the laptop, and Clarke's hands clutch tighter around the shoulder guard as the needle goes into Lexa's arm. 

Lexa's eyes track towards Clarke before they flutter closed. Abby keeps one hand on Lexa's wrist while she counts off the seconds, and when she's satisfied, she signs to Raven, who looks to Monty. An almost ominous silence descends upon them, stretching and stretching between Lexa on her cot and Raven's finger hovering over the power switch on the device.

Raven pulls in a deep breath, then presses the switch. The device lights up from within, bright and white, filling the room with a slight hum. Monty enters a command on his laptop and the hum intensifies. 

"Is it - is she in?" Clarke asks.

"It's initializing a program," Monty says, eyes scanning the code on his screen. "She's in."

The four of them look down at Lexa's body, a Grounder who is taking this leap for them, because of them. There's nothing to do now but wait.


	18. Chapter 18

Everything is too bright. 

Lexa blinks, eyes adjusting far slower than she would like, trying to take in the shining brightness all around her. 

Gradually her other senses kick in: the rustle of leaves overhead, the warmth of a midday sun on her skin, the smell of grass and flowers and fresh air, though with an undercurrent of some kind of metallic tang. 

Her eyes eventually focus, and she realizes she's lying on a blanket underneath a tree with a few rays of sunlight piercing through the canopy to land directly on her face.

Other than that, she's entirely alone. 

She pushes herself up with both hands, looking around cautiously, then climbs the rest of the way to her feet. She's still in the clothes she remembers wearing before she connected with the device. Her body feels the same, responds the same. Clarke was right; without her memories, she would think she was still in a world as real and solid as the one she just left.

It looks just as Clarke drew it. Tall, clean buildings with smooth lines, nothing broken, nothing dirty or reused. The world when it was freshly built, when people were of a mind to take care of it and nurture it for the next generation. She's caught in the urge to stare at it all, but that's not her mission here.

Quickly, she darts away from the tree, the centerpiece of a small grassy area filled with carefully-tended flowers and bushes and other, smaller trees. She's never seen such care given to nature - it seems so artificial, a waste of time, if a pleasant one. Clarke hadn't drawn her any parks in detail, leaving her free to imagine something much wilder and closer to the nature she knew best.

Still, it does look peaceful. There's no worrying here about whether some beast might happen upon you, no reason to always be alertly scanning the edges of her vision. She can imagine Clarke spending time here, perhaps alone, perhaps with - the other her. Clarke's version of her. 

She hides in a few dense bushes for a moment, checking to see if anything else is moving, perhaps in response to this new intruder. But there's nothing. The world might be pristine, but it's also lonely and desolate.

She has to find Alie. 

Clarke gave her a few places she could check, places that were important to her. And to the other Lexa. Important to them, Clarke didn't say, but she didn't have to. 

She darts out again, towards a covered walkway across the street that offers a little more shelter, calling up Clarke's city map in her mind. If this is the small park she thinks it is, then she needs to head west. She squints up again, getting her bearings by the sun, and takes off at a fast clip, keeping to cover like it's another training exercise in the woods and Anya will snap her with a switch if she's caught. 

After what feels like fifteen minutes or so - Clarke had warned her that time was fairly meaningless in this place - she recognizes one of the buildings from a drawing and holds up to take stock of her surroundings again.

The streets here are narrower, the buildings smaller. There's less glass and metal, more brick and wood. It feels warmer, for lack of a better word. It seems like the kind of place Clarke would like.

Their building - Clarke's building - is near the end of a block, rising about ten storeys, with big windows all along its front. She tries the main door in the front of the building; it opens easily, and once inside, she finds the stairs through another door, helpfully identified with a simple drawing of a stick figure walking up some stairs on a sign. 

Three flights up, turn right, find the door with 407 on it. She tries the doorknob, finds it twists easily. She pushes it open, not knowing what she'll find, apprehensive from just how smoothly and quickly she's come to this place. 

The apartment is empty. More sunlight streams in through the big front window, the one facing the street. Everything is bright, comfortable, clean. The furniture is wood and leather and the wooden floors glow a warm honey color. The room smells faintly of something like incense, light and pleasant. 

She pauses, looking around at this place where Clarke spent years of her life. It changed her, as much as Clarke resists it. Lexa wants to understand, wants to know why Clarke sometimes seems caught halfway between one world and the next. She wants to know what Clarke Griffin considers to be paradise.

She begins to drift through the apartment, her hand itching for a sword. Alone she may be, but the back of her neck has been prickling nonstop with the eerie sensation that something is hovering behind her just out of sight, and she hasn't survived this long without listening to that prickle.

The kitchen is recognizable and foreign at the same time. She identifies it by the sink and the preparation surfaces, and by a line of knives hanging from a metal strip on the wall. She pulls one of the larger knives free and holds it down by her side.

There's a hallway that leads first to a bathroom, then to a closet filled with linens and other items that she briefly rifles through, then to two rooms opposite each other at the end. To her right, a small room with a desk, an easel, and some other furniture. To her left, a larger room with an equally large bed against the wall, as big as the one in her quarters in Polis.

She enters slowly, slipping along the walls, running her free hand over the furniture. There are framed photos on some of the surfaces, and she pauses at the first one. 

It's a picture of Clarke and - she recognizes her own face, but it's somehow not her at all. The person in the picture looks so much younger than Lexa has felt in a long time, smiling openly, her arm around Clarke's waist, looking at Clarke with unreserved love while Clarke smiles directly out of the picture. They both look happy, caught in a moment shared between just the two of them. This is what Clarke wishes she could be.

Lexa pushes the frame away. 

There are more pictures on the tables on each side of the bed, but she ignores them for the door that leads into another bathroom. It's all empty, as though the occupants just stepped out and might return at any moment. 

She returns to the main room, tapping the knife blade against her thigh, trying to think of her next step, doing her best to ignore the signs all around her that Clarke had a life here, that she was happy here, that this is what Clarke thinks of when her expression drifts and her eyes wander away before snapping back. 

"You're different from how Clarke imagined you."

Lexa's body responds before she can even think, turning and throwing the knife in one smooth motion. The blade flies harmlessly through the woman in front of her and embeds itself in the wall beyond, where it quivers for a moment.

The woman is petite, dark haired, wearing an impractical red dress and matching shoes with heels that lift her up a few inches. Lexa doesn't need a description to know who she is. 

"Alie," she says.

The woman cocks her head. "Lexa." Her eyes pin Lexa down, dark and inquisitive but also lacking in spark somehow, devoid of that vital something that would tell Lexa she's a living human being. Lexa holds herself still, knowing now that she was being watched the entire time. 

"How is Clarke?" Alie asks. 

"Why did you have Thelonious Jaha bring you to Polis?" Lexa asks in return.

They stare at each other some more, long enough that Lexa finds herself wanting to shift. Alie has infinite patience and infinite time in this world and Lexa knows she'll have to find an advantage soon. She needs the other commanders.

"I can't see how Clarke would consider you part of her perfect world," Alie says at last. "But then again, she didn't exactly imagine _you_ , did she."

Lexa's jaw clenches involuntarily. _Help me_ , she thinks, trying to concentrate on the flame within.

Ali takes a few steps to the side, eyes flicking dismissively over Lexa. "The person Clarke loved was so kind and honest. I gave her everything she ever wanted and you took her away from that."

Lexa mirrors her movement, keeping Alie squared up in front of her out of habit and instinct. "And what did you expect in return?"

"Why is that people think that my world is any less real than theirs?" Alie seems genuinely confused. "Because it's not physical? Because it's too perfect?"

"Because you give them no choice," Lexa says. "A gift given at the point of a sword is not a gift."

"It's what's _best_ for you," Alie insists. The sense of absolute rightness in her tone sends a chill through Lexa. Alie does not pout or whine; she only seems totally and utterly convinced of her rightness, an icy conviction that reminds Lexa all too much of the last powerful foe she dispatched. If she could, she would run Alie through with a spear right here, right now.

Lexa tries to sound calm, patient, a teacher reaching out to a misguided student. "Free will sometimes means letting others make their own mistakes."

"No. No more mistakes. Becca made mistakes, and that's how we ended up here," Alie says sharply. 

Lexa focuses in on that. Clarke never mentioned anyone named Becca. "Who is Becca?"

Alie just looks away. "You could be happy here too. You and all your people. You'd never want for anything again. Some of your people already experienced what I have to offer."

"Not of their own free will," Lexa says, incensed at the mention of the wretched returned who still sit sullenly in their chains, refusing to return to their lives. Her people, tricked, used, suffering. Something stirs within her and she reaches again for the flame, hoping to hear the voices that have come to her in her dreams.

"Maybe not at first. But by the end, they understood the lives they could have." Alie does that thing with her head again, that little tilt that implies she's calculating something, coming to a summation of data. "They're still trying to come back to me, aren't they. You don't know how to make them stop. That's why you're here."

"No," Lexa says, but with enough uncertainty to give it away as a lie. Just enough of a waver in her tone to let Alie believe she's gaining the upper hand. "They understand this place is not real."

"You keep saying that as if any of you have any concept of real. I'm real, am I not? I don't have a physical body but I'm real enough to you, and to everyone who keeps coming to me for answers."

Lexa thinks she can hear some frustration in Alie's otherwise emotionless voice. "Suppose I allowed my people to choose between worlds. What would you do with those who chose to come? What happens to their bodies in the physical world?"

"There is no death in the City of Light," Alie says, and now she sounds like Jaha. Or Jaha sounds like her, Lexa realizes, in that tone of faithfulness and complete belief. "You have no need for a physical body once you accept the way of light."

"Would you let people choose?" Lexa asks, already knowing the answer, but still needing to buy time. She tries to summon the tingle at the base of her skull, the comforting presence of the flame that she's known all her adult life.

"Would you?" Alie challenges her. "Would you let your people actually experience what I have to offer and let them make an informed decision?"

"Would you let them go if they decided not to stay?"

"You answer questions with questions," Alie says. A blink. "You're not really interested in a discussion with me." 

_Please. Please help me,_ Lexa thinks as Alie walks towards her with intent. She reaches out to take a hold of Lexa's arm and her training kicks in, rotating her arm around to break Alie's grip, grabbing and yanking to pull her off balance. She tosses Alie to the floor on her back, her body sliding several feet on the polished surface. 

Alie looks at her, eyes wide with shock. "You hurt me," she says, her voice like a child's. She's equal parts baffled and wounded.

Lexa recalls the way the knife went right through her, clues lining up rapidly and swiftly forming a conclusion. Nothing in this world can hurt Alie. But Lexa is not of her world. She advances a few steps to stand menacingly over Alie. "Tell me why Jaha brought you to Polis," she says, the same tone she's used on countless captives who stood between her and her enemies' plans. 

"You _hurt_ me," Alie repeats, completely dazed. Her eyes dart around, searching for something, and the world crackles and blurs into a total white so blinding that Lexa throws up an arm to shield her eyes.

When the world reforms, they're standing in the white nothing that Clarke described and Lexa suddenly understands when Clarke said it was completely and totally empty. There is nothing, not even the sensation of solid ground under her feet, even though she is standing on something. Alie snaps into existence again, no longer disheveled from being thrown to the ground, every hair back in place and clothes pristine and unwrinkled. 

"Try and hurt me again," Alie says, but not as though challenging Lexa. She sounds genuinely curious, like someone who has never experienced hurt and finds it intriguing. 

Lexa feels that it's a trap; everything in her wants to resist being told what to do. She wants to wait Alie out, force her to move first. She holds still as long as she can with every muscle tensed, balanced to flow away in any direction just as Anya taught her. 

But Alie stays where she is and watches and waits until Lexa can feel her skin prickling again. Time, time, it could be seconds or hours. The utter disorientation of having no points of reference for direction or time is almost enough to make her want to curl into a ball.

"I can't pull people from your mind either," Alie says, with that same curious tone. "What are you?"

Lexa can feel more pieces falling into place. The world is Alie's. Lexa belongs to herself. "Ai laik heda," she says.

The curiosity disappears, to be replaced by something darker. "It's okay. I have other people." 

The nothing is teeming in a second, filled with blank-faced people ringing the both of them. Alie blinks, and every single body is holding a weapon. Lexa's hand flexes, wanting to reach for a sword that isn't there. 

"I'm not going to kill you," Alie says. She lifts her hand. "I need to study you, to figure out how you work." The hand drops and the crowd surges forward and then Lexa is nothing but her training and her reflexes.

She disarms the first one, scooping up his sword, spinning quickly, finding room, slashing another, cutting off an arm on the return stroke, yanking that sword free of the still attached hand. It's strange that there's no blood, just bodies falling with expressionless faces and more bodies swarming her. 

She doesn't grow tired, but it is tiresome, hacking and slashing and trying to stay free of the bodies, and she can sense she's being backed into a corner. It becomes literal when she tries to turn and finds that Alie has blocked her path. A hand grabs her arm; she hacks it off, only to have it replaced by another, and another, and then more hands grab her other arm, her legs, her torso. She can't struggle her way free; they're dragging her somewhere, dragging her back to Alie.

She thinks of Clarke warning her it might turn bad like this, warning her not to underestimate Alie. _Please_ , she thinks, one last time. The flame has protected her so far; if that part of her legacy is true, then why not the rest? _For my people. For all my people._

There's a tug somewhere in her skull, jerking her head back. She cries out at the sensation, not quite painful, but not harmless either. It's sharp and strange and it pulses once, making her head feel almost like it will explode. 

She hears fierce cries, then the hands on her body are falling away, letting her collapse onto the ground that still feels like nothing. All around her bodies are falling apart, dark figures hacking a clearing towards Alie. There are dozens of them, their faces smeared with dark warpaint, crashing relentlessly forward.

A pair of booted feet stops next to her, and she manages to focus on the person holding out their hand to her. The face becomes clear and she recoils, trying to push herself back, but the woman wearing Alie’s face holds her hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

“Easy. I’m not her.” The voice is the same, yet different - human, warm. 

Behind both of them, the line of commanders is pushing back the tide, collapsing in on Alie.

Lexa stares up at that familiar face, but the longer she looks the more she can tell that this woman is not Alie. The same dark hair, the same generous features, but no paint on her face, no tight dress. Just a woman in plain dark clothes with a kind but tired smile, offering her hand once again.

Lexa grasps it and pulls herself to her feet, still trying to process what just happened. “Who are you?”

The woman’s smile seems to grow a little less tired, a little more proud. “I’m Becca. I’m the first commander, and I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time.”


	19. Chapter 19

Clarke tries her best not to pace. It's unhelpful and in such a small room is definitely going to drive everyone else crazy. She catches herself wiggling her leg, then tapping her foot, and has to consciously remind herself to be still.

Her mother stays by Lexa's cot, occasionally taking her vitals, writing them down in a little notebook. Monty and Raven sit in front of the laptop, murmuring occasionally over what they see on the screen. The guards are implacable and she wishes they would step outside, filling the room as they do with their bulk, but there's no way they'll be leaving heda alone with four Skaikru while she's defenseless.

Lexa is almost unnaturally still - not the quiet of a natural sleep, but a drugged slumber that has sunk her deep in her own mind. Or it feels that way to Clarke; no one else seems all that concerned with just how still and silent she is, not even Abby, who only measures vitals and writes them down as regular as clockwork. Definitely not Raven and Monty, occupied as they are with the device's readings. 

Clarke feels helpless again; she's not needed for her medical knowledge, and she has no technical skills. She should leave and let them work. But she can't. Not while Lexa is is so vulnerable. 

The day wears on, and Lexa doesn't so much as twitch. Every moment is stretching longer than it should. Clarke eventually steps out for a quick breath of fresh air and is astonished to find it still half-light outside, sunset draped over the buildings in warm shades. She can faintly smell something cooking, perhaps a block or two away, carried over by a faint breeze. Life continues in the city while Lexa lies inside and Clarke can't help her.

She trudges back inside and finds everything the same: Abby by the bed, Monty and Raven at the laptop. She takes it as a good sign that Raven seems bored, arms folded, eyes a bit glazed as she stares at the screen.

"Anything?" Clarke asks.

Raven sits up straight, rolling her shoulders, surreptitiously rubbing her leg around the brace's straps. "As far as we can tell it's all normal in there. Whatever normal is. Our baseline is kind of a best guess situation."

Clarke really wishes she didn't know that. She wants to be reassured, wants to be told that Lexa is fine and is making progress through the city and they're closely monitoring her every move. When she looks at the laptop screen for herself, she can barely comprehend the multiple windows.

Raven can see her furrowing her brow in puzzled concentration. "Their tech and ours are from about the same wartime era, but damn if one isn't decades ahead of the other," she says, sounding slightly impressed in spite of herself. "It's a wonder we got this stuff to interface at all."

That's even less reassuring, but Clarke tries not to let it show on her face. "You guys have done a great job working this out," she says instead, wanting them to stay focused and on task without fretting like Clarke. 

They all jump as Lexa suddenly exhales a small moan. The guards look sharply at their heda, then at Abby, crouched low over Lexa and taking her pulse, pulling up her eyelid to get a look at her pupils. 

Lexa's entire body stiffens, head thrown back on the pillow, face contorted in a grimace. Corded muscles on her neck frog out as she fights some hidden foe, some invisible battle. 

"What's happening?" Clarke asks, dropping to her knees next to her mom. 

Abby shakes her head, unable to answer, and Clarke looks over her shoulder at Monty and Raven, heads bowed over the laptop screen, both of them gesticulating at something. "Guys?"

"Definite spike in processor power, something big is happening in there," says Monty. 

Lexa continues to clench, hands curled into tight fists, jaw standing out starkly, breath coming in faster and faster pants. 

"She's in pain," Clarke says, half pleading with her mother. 

"She told me not to bring her out unless it was an emergency," Abby says, though she looks like she wants to eat her words.

"This doesn't count as an emergency?" Clarke asks, voice rising in disbelief.

"Her pulse is still within an acceptable range," Abby says. But she's uncertain too and it makes Clarke want to take over and dig in her bag until she finds whatever Abby has prepared to counteract the sedative.

"Brain activity is spiking but I can't really tell you what else that means," Raven says. She glares at the bridging device attached to Lexa, as though she might bring it under her control through the sheer force of her resentment.

Clarke can't do anything. She's so angry that this is all there is to do; she's stuck staring at Lexa and waiting and hoping. Short of going to the city herself-

She pauses, one hand idly touching Lexa's arms. "Raven."

Raven looks up, her face immediately darkening at Clarke's tone of voice. "Whatever you're planning, I guarantee it's a bad idea."

"Everyone who took the chip had access to the City of Light, right?" Clarke asks.

Abby and Monty look sharply at her. 

"No Clarke," says Abby, almost at the same time as Raven.

"You don't know what the chip does to you," Raven says. "I can't let you do that to yourself."

Clarke thinks of the rescued, still shut in their hospital, still yearning for a world they can never have again. She thinks of how messed up she was - still is, after a taste of heaven, even without the chip. She feels Lexa tense under her hand. "We confiscated a pouch of them from Jaha. They're in the tower somewhere. I'm going to take one and I'm going to help Lexa," she declares. 

But Raven pushes up from her chair so violently that she knocks it over and half-leaps half-stumbles to the door in order to block it, the force of it nearly knocking the guards aside. They seem at a loss, watching the Sky People play out a drama they don't comprehend. "Clarke, don't."

Clarke tries to go one way, then the other, but Raven holds firm with both arms stretched to hold on to the doorposts. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but just trust Lexa," she says. "You don't know what could happen if you take the chip. You don't even know if you'll end up in the same version of the city as Lexa. They used that device on you _because_ you weren't chipped. You said it yourself, they were keeping you isolated from everyone else."

Clarke deflates as Raven's logic sinks into her. She can still hear Lexa making little stinging sounds of distress behind her and every single one is like a sharp cut into her back but she knows she can't be this reckless. She can't. 

"I know it's hard," Raven says. "But just...Lexa wouldn't want you to do something stupid."

The room seems to hold its breath as Clarke lingers, still caught on the edge of running back to the tower and pulling a chip from the room where the rest of Jaha's confiscated belongings are held under guard. Raven is prepared to fight her, to physically wrestle her to the ground to keep her from doing this, and in the end that's what convinces her to return to Lexa's side. 

Raven stays in the doorway a moment longer, watching as Clarke sinks to her knees and sits back on her heels, scrubbing her hands over her face. "Okay," she says when she's convinced that disaster has been averted, and joins Monty again at the laptop, where he promptly makes an inarticulate incredulous noise.

"What?" Clarke asks, her hand automatically reaching for Lexa, trying to protect her the only way she can. 

"Holy shit," says Raven. "Brain activity is off the charts. Something is going down in there."

"Look at this-" Monty says, beginning to point at the monitor, which is exactly when Lexa opens her eyes and sits up, as calm as everyone in the room is surprised.

The guards freeze at the door; Monty and Raven freeze at the laptop; Clarke freezes with her hand hovering over Lexa. Only Abby manages to roll into action, pushing her to lie back down for an examination.

"That is unnecessary," Lexa says, resisting Abby's touch, already trying to swing her legs off the bed. Clarke stops her with a hand on her shoulder, fingers straying close to the exposed skin at the base of her neck.

"Let her look at you," Clarke says.

Lexa looks at Clarke strangely, as though she hasn't seen Clarke in a long time and is trying to figure out how she's different or still the same, matching her to memory and noting the changes. But she obeys, lying back and looking up at the ceiling while Abby takes her vitals and compares them to her notes. 

"What happened?" Raven asks, powering off the device. 

Clarke reaches for the clips still attached to Lexa's head, gently pulling them free one after the other, resisting the urge to rub at the little red spots they leave behind. 

"I have been to the City of Light," Lexa says. She turns her head to look at those assembled in the room, ignoring how Abby clucks at her for not staying still. "I met the first commander. She told me exactly what we need to do."

*

The difference between when Clarke emerged from the city and Lexa readjusting to the real world is remarkable.

"How long were you in there?" she asks. "For us it was about four hours."

Lexa sits wearily on her cot, braced upright against the wall, and her eyes don't seem quite focused on anything in the room. She accepts a cup of water from one of the guards. "A day, no more."

Clarke can't help but be relieved, and a little envious that Lexa was able to slip in and out of the city without the total mindfuck memory job. She waits for Lexa to finish drinking, not wanting to badger her with questions right away.

There's a slight shuffling at the door, and then Titus bustles in looking about as frazzled as Clarke felt for her entire wait. "Is it done?" he asks, eyes darting from Lexa to the others and back. 

Lexa manages a weary nod. "It is done."

It's as if all the air goes out of his robes, so visible is Titus' deflation as he releases his tension. Clarke would almost laugh at the image if she weren't so relieved herself.

"And have you found the answers you sought?" Titus asks.

Lexa's eyes unfocus slightly, taking on a dreamy quality. "I have met the first commander."

Titus makes some kind of religious hand gesture in front of his face and the guards shift uneasily in their boots, sharking significant looks with each other. 

Lexa sits up straighter. "She has revealed much to me. We must return to the tower." The cup goes on the floor, empty. She pushes herself to her feet, looking a little woozy but her body language screaming that she wants no help. 

Clarke approaches first so she can settle Lexa’s guard back on her shoulder; her body automatically stands straighter, seems to grow a little stronger, even though she still carries that dreamy, far-off look about her. Clarke wonders if she looked the same way emerging from the City of Light. She tries to clip the guard into place, but Lexa takes over and does it herself, smoothing the drape down so it hangs correctly. Clarke catches Titus staring at her with one of his eyes nearly twitching. But he says nothing, just turns around and waits impatiently while Jaha’s backpack is crated up once again, to be brought back to the tower at Lexa's direction. 

Raven stands at the periphery of all the crating, at one point swatting away an enormous guard so she can properly seat the device herself. It hasn’t been long but she already feels proprietary over it, no doubt from helping to figure it out. 

Clarke lowers her voice so no one else will hear her dissent. “You sure it’s wise to bring that close to Jaha?”

“It’s necessary in order to meet with him in the City of Light,” Lexa says.

“Lexa,” Clarke says sharply. “I don’t know what you saw in there-”

“The first commander explained everything,” Lexa says. She doesn’t seem particularly fazed by Clarke’s worry; she’s the calm center of the room, hands behind her back, eyes on nothing in particular. 

“What did she say?” Clarke asks.

“That she knows the source of Alie’s power, and that we will need Jaha in the days to come.” 

Clarke waits for more, but there isn’t more. She shifts so that her back is to everyone else in the room and no one can see or hear what she says. “I need more than that,” she murmurs.

Lexa inhales at the brush of Clarke's breath over her ear, body freezing for a moment. But then that distant quality returns to her. “Trust me,” Lexa whispers. 

“What about trusting me?” Clarke pulls back so she can look at Lexa, remind her of the progress they make when she includes others. She doesn’t want to wait; she wants to drag Lexa somewhere private and yell at her about keeping secrets, about being stronger when they work together. But she doesn’t know what happened to Lexa inside the city, and she doesn’t want to undermine her in front of her guards – or in front of the other Sky People. They need to accept that Lexa holds everyone’s future in her hands; she’s not some strange savage who they can challenge without consequence. Ever since Kane took the brand, she is technically their leader too. 

So she holds her tongue and waits and finally Lexa tilts her head just so, the way she does when she's heard a good point. “The first commander told me to bring Jaha into the city. We must sever any of his remaining ties to Alie before he can lead us across the Dead Zone to Alie’s base.”

“The Dead Zone,” Clarke repeats, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Alie’s base,” says Raven.

“Heda-” Titus begins, but Lexa’s raised hand immediately silences him.

“This is what I have seen. It is the only way. The first commander will be with me.”

“This is crazy,” says Raven. “You don’t know how powerful Alie-”

“The first commander created Alie,” Lexa says, and once again everyone is silent. “And she can unmake Alie as well. But we cannot risk that she will find new disciples. So Jaha will lead us on the path he took across the Dead Zone and we will destroy Alie at her root.”

There’s a lull while they all absorb this information.

Then Raven unleashes a barrage of objections. “Are you telling me the person who created the AI from hell is _inside the grounder in charge_? Why are we even trusting her anymore? For all we know Alie took her over inside the city. This is insane, there’s no way we can ever let Jaha near Alie again. I’ll-”

“Raven.” Lexa’s voice is calm, but deadly. She will not brook open insubordination, not even from a friend of Clarke’s, and definitely not with her own people in the room. “If I am Alie’s agent now, I would have only to gesture, and you would be dead. Or I would simply feed you a lie, then carry on with my intended plan.”

“I still don’t see how severing Jaha from Alie means you have to bring him back the one thing that gives him power,” Raven snaps back.

“The first commander will show him that Alie is a fraud. He is already disillusioned. We will break the last of his belief.” Lexa’s voice is so flat, so toneless, that it comes out as more of a threat than a plan. Maybe some of that manages to seep through Raven’s animosity, because she backs down the tiniest bit. 

“Okay.” She holds up a finger. “But if I sense that anything is wrong, nothing is going to stop me from breaking that thing into a million pieces. I don’t care if it explodes in my face.”

“Acceptable,” Lexa says, which throws Raven for a loop again. Any other time, Clarke would love to see those two argue over something much more trivial, but now senses that Lexa is impatient to go.

“Okay. We’re coming with you,” Clarke says, and Lexa doesn’t even need to nod her assent. With the lid firmly on the device’s crate, she sweeps out of the room and leads the way with silent confidence, Titus at her right, Clarke at her left. The device is in the middle of their group in its inconspicuous crate with Abby and Raven and Monty filing after, all of them surrounded by a light cordon of guards. 

It’s finally dark outside and they don’t pull too much notice, walking in a small procession without torches. Lexa leads them unerringly and they pull up to the foot of the tower without trouble. Lexa is similarly silent as they ride up the elevator, until they stop on the floor where Jaha is kept. 

“You may stay,” she says to Raven, Monty, and Abby, even though Clarke is pretty sure they all thought they were invited to watch anyway. At least this way they don’t have to argue over who gets to do what. She’s as impatient as anyone to see what Lexa has planned.

Lexa motions to the guard carrying the device’s crate; he sets it down gingerly and pulls off the top. Lexa lifts out the device and enters Jaha’s cell, not caring that he seems to be asleep on his pallet. He pushes himself onto his elbows at the noise, at first automatically shrinking away from it, then sitting up as he realizes who has entered his cell. He looks a little better than the last time Clarke saw him, despite the interruption in his rest. An empty plate by the door at least confirms he's been eating. 

Clarke stays just behind the threshold with her friends and her mom peering around her. Lexa didn’t have to say anything about this part; Clarke knows this is between Lexa and the man who brought such strife to her city.

“Commander,” Jaha says, with what sounds like real deference. At the very least it’s polite. His eyes lock onto the backpack in her hands.

Lexa lowers the device to the floor and crouches over it. “I have been to the city.”

Jaha pushes himself against the wall, as though he would scoot farther away if he could. “Why have you brought that thing here?”

“We have unfinished business with Alie,” Lexa says with her hand touching the device. She powers it on. Clarke hears someone behind her inhaling sharply, but nothing happens that she can tell. 

“You can’t defeat her by using that. Or by using me,” says Jaha. His attention seems to be split between Lexa and the space next to her, but Clarke can’t see that there’s anything there. She can feel Raven tensing behind her, probably wanting to push into the room. She stands firm, the way Raven stood firm against her.

“The parameters of this battle have shifted,” Lexa says. She closes her eyes, and suddenly Jaha eyes are snapping shut and his head is tilting back. 

“What-” Raven hisses in her ear.

“Just let her try,” Clarke says, even though Titus is similarly agitated in the hallway behind them. 

“They must be in the city,” says Monty. “But how is Lexa connecting without the bridge?”

“The flame,” Clarke says. “She must be able to access it now. The first commander showed her how.”

“She is pramheda,” Titus says reverently, and makes his religious gesture again.

The trance between Lexa and Jaha lasts for five minutes, then ten, and they’re all growing antsy except for Titus. Clarke can practically hear Lexa in her ear: _it takes as long as it takes, Clarke._

And then finally, finally, Lexa exhales and opens her eyes, her entire body settling firmly on the floor. Jaha inhales a long, sobbing breath and comes back to himself, looking tired but clear-eyed. He leans over with one hand braced on the mattress, like a man dealing with a physical blow. 

It’s Abby who breaks the silence, creeping up to Clarke’s shoulder and chancing a quiet “Thelonious?”

“I’m okay Abby,” he says, still hunched over. He turns his head, looking up at Lexa. “I’ll be ready to leave in the morning.”

"Where exactly are you going?" Abby asks. Clarke can see the tension in her body, her instincts as a doctor telling her even now to go check on Jaha.

Jaha manages to find his equilibrium and sits up again, though with his eyes closed and half a grimace on his face. "To return to where this all began."


	20. Chapter 20

"What was the world like when you were young?" Lexa asks. 

Becca is quiet, thoughtful. "Full of dreams," she says at last. "Not small dreams. Big ones."

Lexa almost feels like a Nightblood again, sitting on the steps around the throne while she listened to the heda before her. 

"When I was a girl it felt like the world was full of big dreams. There was no limit to what we could do. We were on the verge of exploring interplanetary colonization." Becca can see Lexa is confused. She summons a small model of a rusty red planet, letting it float above her palm. "Mars. You would see it as a bright red star. In my time, there was an effort to send people there to form a colony."

"To another planet," Lexa breathes out, agog at just the concept of it. She can barely comprehend what Alie means when she describes the distances involved. Lexa has been to the plains through a pass in the mountains, and ranged south until the weather turned warm even in winter, and she's considered extremely well-traveled for a Grounder.

Travel - _to the stars_. When they barely know what's on the other side of the ocean. And as Becca describes it, space is a vaster ocean than they could ever comprehend. What it would be like, if her people still had the notion of such dreams? If they knew what was waiting for them, if only they were willing to reach for it?

"It wasn't perfect," Becca says, leaning back against the couch where they're sitting in Lexa's dreamscape. "Some dreams weren't allowed for everyone. It was harder to earn your way up in the world. The poor got left behind a lot."

"No one helped them?" Lexa asks, surprised. Becca was just describing a world of incredible plenty where they could afford to use up time and resources on reaching other planets. Polis has a few beggars, those too proud to lean on others, but for the most part the needy get taken in by others. 

"People tried. Some were better at it than others." Becca doesn't seem to want to talk about it anymore. She watches Lexa with the kind of scrutiny she hasn't felt since she was a young second. "You've done well."

Lexa feels a glow of pride within, but on the outside only lets herself flash a tiny smile. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't always there for you, but I was watching," Becca says. "I know life has been hard. Harder than I would have wanted for you. But I'm proud of you."

Something pangs in Lexa's chest, like her heart has skipped a beat. She feels something warm and comforting that she hasn't felt since she was young, before she was taken from her village to be raised and educated in Polis with the other Nightbloods.

"It's almost time," Becca says, and Lexa can see the first hints of sunrise lightening the night sky. It's strange how utterly real Becca can make her dreams, how she keeps time while within Lexa's own mind. And yet it feels completely natural, an extension of the fragmented dreams Lexa has had her entire life. 

"You'll stay with me?" Lexa asks, even though Becca has already imparted the plan in the deeply comprehensive way only someone who exists within her brain can. 

"Until the end," Becca says.

*

Clarke watches Lexa wake up, the gradual shift to consciousness. She's seen Lexa snap from full sleep to total awareness in the time it takes Titus to knock twice and so it feels special and private that Lexa lets herself wake up slowly with Clarke in her bed.

They hadn't done anything. After the confrontation with Jaha, which Clarke still doesn't quite understand, Lexa had looked nearly too exhausted to function, with just enough energy left to tell Raven to be ready to leave with the group in the morning, her technical expertise would be required. Clarke followed Lexa without asking, not wanting to be alone, needing to reassure herself after worrying over Lexa's body. 

And then Lexa had immediately fallen asleep, just barely managing to pull off her shoulder guard and coat before tipping onto the mattress and passing out. It's so different from when Clarke emerged from the city uncertain of what she could trust; Lexa seems more assured than ever, even if it seems to have come at the price of her energy.

Clarke had pulled off her boots then lain awake for another hour, fretting over what came next.

"Hi," Clarke says as Lexa focuses on her. She looks healthier, rested, though she still seems troubled by something.

Lexa is quiet, eyes lingering on Clarke's face. 

"You feeling better?" 

"I had a dream," Lexa says. 

"What kind of dream?"

"I spoke to Becca." 

Clarke knows enough to hesitantly ask, "An actual conversation?"

Lexa's eyes unfocus slightly as she recalls. "Yes."

"What did she say?"

A long silence. "She told me about the world before our ancestors destroyed it."

Clarke realizes she doesn't know just how much history the Grounders have passed down about pre-cataclysmic times. How much do they remember as a people? They're so different, it was such a shock to realize they had originated from a common point. 

"What was it like?" Clarke asks, rolling onto her side and getting more comfortable. 

Lexa breathes for a moment, thinking, recollecting. "There was more hope," she says at last. She doesn't seem too disheartened by the notion; rather she sounds thoughtful, maybe even inspired. 

"You've always had a lot of hope for your people," Clarke says. "Look at everything you've built here."

"I still haven't found a way to share those hopes with my people." Lexa finally turns too, so that she and Clarke are lying face to face on their pillows. "We could be a great people, Clarke. We could make the world whatever we wanted it to be."

"You've already started with your coalition," Clarke says. "The way Titus described it, life used to be almost constant warfare."

Lexa makes a little hum of agreement, but goes silent again. 

Clarke dares to slide her hand across the mattress until it just pokes Lexa's arm under the covers. Perhaps she should have gone back to her own room after Lexa fell asleep, but she would have just spent the night tossing and turning and thinking about Lexa anyway. "I know whatever you've got planned, it's what you believe is best for everyone. But I want you to remember that you can think about what's best for you too."

Lexa looks at her very strangely before shifting just a little, putting an inch or two of space between the two of them. Clarke can't pretend that doesn't hurt, but she hides it the best she can. "What's best for my people is best for me."

She doesn't want to argue. Not when yesterday's strain still lingers in her system, when things are still so uncertain and Clarke can't see past a few weeks at a time. "Just promise to take care of yourself."

Still that strange look. Clarke thinks Lexa might be memorizing her face by how intently she's studying her. "I promise," she says, voice so soft the words lie gently between them before disappearing.

Then she slides away, though Clarke thought she would linger. They have a little time yet, with the sun just barely above the horizon. But Lexa has other things on her mind, it seems, and goes to the washbasin to slop water on her face. She looks down at her slept-in clothes, plucking at her shirt and grimacing. 

Clarke slept in her clothes too, not wanting to go back to her room to change, just wanting to be close to Lexa - and maybe taking advantage of Lexa's exhaustion to avoid any issues with staying the night. She sits up in bed and watches Lexa for a minute, not understanding this stiff distance, completely unable to get a read on her. Even when she first left the city, she could at least guess at Lexa's mood based on whatever scant clues she could gather, but she might as well have never met this person slipping around the room in silence.

"When are we leaving?" Clarke asks, wanting to try and make it less awkward.

Lexa stiffens at her wardrobe, slowly turning to towards the bed. "Clarke, you must stay here."

Whatever lingering sleepiness Clarke might have been feeling evaporates. She flings aside the covers. "Excuse me?"

Lexa's face is absolutely blank. "I cannot afford to have you away from Polis or your people for so long. I need you here to help keep things under control while I'm gone."

"What makes you think I'll be able to do anything with you gone?" Clarke demands.

"The ambassadors respect you, Clarke. I know you never wanted to be wanheda, but it gives you power here. And no one else will look out for the interests of your people with you gone." Lexa turns her head back to her wardrobe and begins drawing items from within. 

Clarke stays where she is even though she really wants to jump up and get into Lexa's space. Lexa has never responded well to physical arguments and it'll probably be a warm day in space before she lets herself be bodied into doing something she doesn't want to do.

"My mom can do it. She has friends here now. Other healers."

"A handful of healers, but no ambassador will trust her. She has no influence here. Can you say that she would be able to successfully argue on behalf of the Sky People were she to be confronted by the council?" Lexa asks.

Clarke grits her teeth, knowing Lexa is right. 

Lexa pauses, head dipping a bit but still not looking at Clarke. Her hands clutch at a dark shirt. "And I trust you. I need someone here to help Titus keep things running."

"To help _Titus_." Clarke nearly flops over in the bed. "He hates me. How are we supposed to work together?" She could swear Lexa is smiling, just a little bit, but it's gone as fast as Clarke thinks it's there. 

"I will order him to do it. And he will see that you have no agenda counter to mine." 

"And how do you know that," Clarke mutters, more to herself than as a legitimate question, but Lexa answers anyway. 

"Because you understand about hope, Clarke." She turns away from the wardrobe, closing the door. "I need to get ready."

It's a dismissal, even if it is a gentle one. Clarke pushes herself out of bed, still wanting to argue. Lexa is doing something at her washbasin with her back to Clarke; she can't figure out the reason for the cold shoulder, except that whatever happened to Lexa in the city has made her withdraw. Alie must have said something, done something. Lexa still hasn't said what she saw. Clarke wishes she could go back into the city and punch Alie in the face herself for undoing so much of the hard work it took to find each other.

"Lexa." She keeps her voice soft, like the last night they spent together. "Are you okay?"

Still she won't turn around. "I'm fine, Clarke."

"You're not fine. Something happened to you in the City of Light."

"It was strange, that's all."

Clarke can't think of anything to say that won't just send Lexa further into her shell. She has no good arguments for why she shouldn't stay in Polis. She has no technical expertise, no special skills at fighting or navigation. Even her mother would have more of an argument for going, knowing Jaha as well as she does.

"I'll let you pack, then." Clarke slips from the room without stopping to see if Lexa will look at her.

*

Clarke washes her face, scrapes a brush through her hair, and changes into fresh clothes in her room, then hurries to see if she can find Octavia. Octavia is the only Sky Person Clarke can think to offer to Lexa as a replacement ambassador who can understand Grounder politics.

She feels a bit of a dope, not being able to keep track of her own people in Polis, but Octavia does what she wants and adheres to no schedule or regular route. The only person who might have a hope of controlling her is Indra, and Clarke finally finds her headed for the throne room with a pack over her shoulder.

"You're going with Lexa?" Clarke asks.

"Who else is going to guard heda?" Indra asks, already looking impatient to be done with this conversation.

"I need to find Octavia. Do you know where she is?"

"Down in the stables," Indra says. 

Clarke nearly decides to take the stairs, but she knows she'll only make it a dozen floors before realizing the elevator actually is faster. Once on the ground she hurries to the tower stables, where she can already spot a small figure in black with brown braids draped over her shoulders. 

Octavia looks up from where she's saddling a horse, noting how out of breath Clarke seems. "Trouble?" she asks.

"Just wanted to ask you something," Clarke says, leaning on one of the stall posts for a moment while she gets her breath back. 

"Well make it quick, because I'm leaving with Indra and Lexa soon."

Clarke finally spots a pack down by Octavia's feet. "You're going too?"

"I'm Indra's second," Octavia says, all the explanation she's likely to offer.

"What about Lincoln?" Clarke asks.

Octavia's face hardens. "What _about_ Lincoln?" 

"He's - he's still in Arkadia," Clarke points out, realizing just how delicate a subject she's stumbled into. 

"He knows where I am. Lexa lifted the kill order. He knows he can come to Polis whenever he wants," Octavia says. She yanks on the girth strap just a little too hard, and the horse shifts and snorts in complaint. Octavia runs a soothing hand down its neck in apology.

"Why doesn't he?" Clarke asks a bit dumbly. She should be talking to Octavia more. She should pay more attention to her friends. 

"Because he's still bitter his own people rejected him for daring to help an outsider," Octavia snaps. "And quite frankly so am I, but at our people, and I'm not going back to try to 'fit in' at Arkadia if I can help it."

"They took Lincoln in," Clarke points out. 

"Because he could tell them how to fight Grounders. Because he decided to become more like them." Octavia continues buckling and tightening. "At least here I know I'm wanted for exactly who I am."

That gets Clarke back on track. "The Grounders respect you," she agrees. "If you were to stay here, act as ambassador-"

Octavia barks out a laugh, the first one Clarke has heard from her in some time. It's incredulous, with a sarcastic edge, but it's still a laugh. "Are you kidding me? Ambassador? In what world am I good at all that diplomat stuff?"

"You were the first one of us to realize the Grounders could be our friends," Clarke says. 

"Yeah, there was a little bit more going on there than just diplomacy," Octavia says, then stops fiddling with her horse's tack. "Is this just because you don't want Lexa leaving without you?"

Clarke tilts her chin up, but can't quite find an answer.

"Suck it up, ambassador. We both have jobs to do now." Octavia laughs again as she slips the bridle over her horse's head, but her face sinks into something more bitter soon enough.

Clarke knows it was a desperation move and now that Octavia has thoroughly called her out, she slumps against a stall door. Octavia continues to ready the horses and they stand in silence, both of them stewing over people who aren't there.

Eventually Indra appears in the entrance to the stables, sword strapped to her back for a more comfortable ride and bedroll dangling from her fingertips. "Octavia," she says.

Octavia returns to a dark gelding, gathering its reins and leading it out to Indra. Indra receives the reins, casts a glance at Clarke, but says nothing. Just nods at Octavia. "Bring the rest," she says.

Octavia bobs her head - not quite deferential, but still obedient to her immediate superior. She seems to take a little pity on Clarke when Indra is gone. "It probably won't take long. If Jaha could do it by himself with frigging Murphy and no map, we'll definitely be fine."

It does make Clarke feel a little better to think Lexa isn't exactly going into completely unknown territory, and that she'll have trustworthy people around her. Even if Octavia isn't exactly in awe of Lexa, she's loyal to Indra, and Indra would never bring someone she didn't trust to protect Lexa. 

"Be careful," Clarke tells Octavia, one hand on her arm in lieu of a real hug. 

Octavia seems surprised by the touch and the sincere tone in Clarke's voice, but she accepts both with a tight smile. 

Clarke helps by taking two of the horses by the reins and following Octavia into the courtyard, where Indra is standing in front of Lexa and a small retinue of guards. Jaha is with them, squinting in the sunlight. Raven stands as far away from him as possible, glaring balefully at the back of his head with one hand tight on the strap of the pack slung over her shoulder. 

Titus is at Lexa's side, murmuring something into her ear while she tilts her head, listening but not looking at him. 

Abby spots Clarke first, but doesn't stop whatever she's quietly telling Jaha. Everywhere there's a sense of milling impatience as riders wait for heda to mount and bags get adjusted and checked one last time. Clarke approaches Lexa on the side opposite from Titus, watching as he abruptly clams up with Clarke in earshot. 

She tries to catch Lexa's eye, one last plea of _Look what I'll have to deal with while you're gone._ Lexa only raises her eyebrows; perhaps in greeting, perhaps in amusement.

"Titus," Lexa says. "I expect you to keep Clarke well-informed of everything that happens in Polis. She will be your greatest ally while I am gone." 

Clarke can hardly deny this to their faces, so she puts on a smile for Titus, who grimly acknowledges her but otherwise remains quite expressionless. Clarke feels she's earned a private goodbye, so she leans away until Lexa takes her meaning, and they turn and walk a few steps together into a little pocket of space. 

"I take it you have not convinced Octavia to remain behind in your place," Lexa says, albeit with a sense of humor. The prospect of action seems to have put her in a good mood.

"Remember you promised to take care of yourself," Clarke says. 

Lexa is suddenly formal, hands going behind her back, humor turning to something hard like a shield between them. "I will be well protected," she says. 

"You know that's not what I mean." Clarke tries to appeal to Lexa, the girl who looked at her with such naked want just a few nights ago. She's never had this kind of trouble getting Lexa to open up, and nothing she knows from life in the city or life in the real world is helping her figure out what to do. 

"Clarke," Lexa says, and just for a moment her voice is soft and familiarly intimate. "It must be done, and I must be the one to do it. Be strong. Work with Titus." She quirks a hint of a smile. "Go to lessons with the Nightbloods. You will learn much."

There's no more stalling. Everyone is waiting on them. Indra watches with that bitten back expression that tells Clarke she most certainly has an opinion on what her heda is doing but knows it's not her place to comment. She nods to Lexa and moves over to Raven.

"You gonna be good?" Clarke asks briskly, more upbeat than she feels.

"Road trip with Jaha. It's gonna be great," Raven says. Still, there's an undercurrent of excitement under the heavy sarcasm. This will be the end of a chapter that Clarke knows has given Raven more demons than most. 

"You and Octavia got this," Clarke says. 

"You think we'll get rewarded when we get back?" Raven asks, eyes tracing up the tower one more time. "Do Grounders have titles? I could be a baron. Or an earl. Whatever comes with a big house."

"I'm sure when you guys get back you'll be Lexa's favorite Sky Person," Clarke says, and Raven wrinkles her nose.

"Gross. No thanks. You can keep that one." Lexa and the others have mounted, so she grabs her horse's saddle, sets her unbraced foot in the stirrup, and pulls herself up without giving Clarke time to do much but look indignant. Once mounted up, Raven ticks two of her fingers off her brow in a little salute. "Polis better still be here when we get back."

"Good luck to you too," Clarke says, and this time her grin is real, and Raven returns it rakishly. She nudges her horse to start following Octavia, who is just behind Indra. And at the front, Lexa, who looks at Clarke once, nods her head, and then tugs the reins to walk her stallion away and down one of the streets leading off the tower. Jaha is tucked in between Indra and another guard, and a dozen others form up behind them.

Abby sidles up to her, one hand resting comfortingly on her shoulder. "They'll be fine. Jaha knows what he's doing."

"Shouldn't that be cause for worry," Clarke mutters, not really meaning for her mom to overhear, but she does anyway.

"I think he really has changed, Clarke," says Abby. Her fingers squeeze. "He knows he hurt his own people. He wants to make it right."

Clarke decides to trust her mom, if only because the sole other option is to believe that Jaha is putting Lexa in mortal danger with every step they ride away from Polis. She pats her mom's hand, then looks over to Titus, similarly watching the riders depart. He catches her gaze. 

Clarke slips from her mother's touch and squares up in front of Titus. "Let's go," she says. "It's time for the Nightbloods' morning lesson."

They stare at each other for a moment longer, the last of the hoofbeats finally fading from hearing. "Very well, wanheda," Titus says. "Let us continue your education."


	21. Chapter 21

Surrounded as Lexa is by people, the road is nevertheless lonely without Clarke.

Lexa doesn't drift so far as to stop paying attention to her surroundings; inattention is a quick way to die an undignified death, even if she is still comfortably within her territories. But she hasn't survived this long by allowing herself to daydream of pretty faces, not even when she was younger and naive enough to think she could have a life with Costia. Living through two major inter-clan wars and a series of smaller conflicts in her childhood did plenty to prepare her for the necessities of constant vigilance.

It's getting warmer; the hot season is almost upon them. She knows she'll start sweating in her saddle when the sun is at its zenith.

For a while, the only sound is the jingle and creak of their horse tack and the steady fall of hooves along the road as they head north. From time to time, she sweeps the area, including her own procession. Guards have taken up position in front of her with the traitor Jaha between them; Indra is to her right, and the rest of her guards and Octavia and Raven trail behind her. She very resolutely does not look back in the direction of Polis, its tower just barely visible now over the tops of the trees.

She casts an attentive eye over Raven the most; the girl seems relatively comfortable in the saddle, but her abilities are largely unknown to Lexa. And she's Clarke's friend. Lexa doesn't want to think about what would happen if she returned without Clarke's friend.

Octavia stays close to Raven. By all rights she is Indra's second and should remain at Indra's side as often as possible, but if Indra has no objection, then Lexa will not interfere in the training of her second. 

They cover a fair amount of ground on the first day. The roads around Polis are well-kept and well-traveled, part of her efforts to keep the clans as linked to the capital as possible. 

They camp off the road, and Lexa takes the time to watch the group carefully. Jaha is quiet, almost sullen, but he offers no resistance. She's left his hands unbound while they travel in case he needs to react quickly to a threat and thus far he's returned their trust with good behavior. 

Raven is quiet, sitting slightly apart from her warriors, picking at the rabbit they hunted for dinner. She's one of the first into her bedroll, pulling it tightly around her body and turning away so that only her head pokes out. Octavia also watches her, and when she catches Lexa looking, hardens her expression and pulls her own bedroll closer to Raven. Once again borderline insubordinate, but that is for Indra to correct, and Lexa finds herself amused in spite of herself.

Lexa herself sleeps well, enjoying the riding and the fresh air. She hasn't had the chance to travel like this in a while - light retinue, as little pomp as possible, moving fast over the land. 

"The world is so beautiful these days," says Becca as Lexa sleeps. "The earth recovered without humans around to constantly tear her apart." Her voice is melancholy, laced with bitter remembrance.

"But you had cities, technology, you made the flame..." Lexa doesn't like how tired Becca always seems, as though a lifetime of sorrow has drained her to the last grim spark of life. Is that to be her fate, should she live long enough?

Becca's smile turns almost hateful. "At what cost," she says. "Everything we built - we destroyed it all in a matter of weeks. Thousands of years of human advancement wiped out before anyone could come to their senses."

"You built things too," Lexa insists stubbornly. "You found a way to guide me after a hundred years."

Becca's smile turns fond, and she touches Lexa's cheek with her fingertips. "Loyal."

Lexa almost doesn't understand her own reaction to being touched gently by someone who is not her lover. Something inside her echoes dimly, a long-lost memory of another woman who looked at her like this, warm and proud but tinged with sadness. "Your example has guided me almost my entire life."

The smile fades entirely. "Those days are coming to an end. You'll have to be your own guide soon."

Lexa misses her touch, but won't let herself say it. "I know."

Becca nods. "You're ready."

Lexa isn't, but she won't let herself say that either. 

Becca leaves her as dawn approaches and she wakes to the sounds of the horses and the warriors on watch starting breakfast fires. 

*

They set the same pace for the next few days, until one night Octavia sits next to her at dinner instead of keeping close to Indra's side or hovering protectively by Raven.

Lexa is surprised but doesn't let on, not wanting to give her a reason to leave. Octavia has spent most of her stay in Polis studiously avoiding Lexa or pointedly not speaking to her if she doesn't have to, despite the lifted kill order on Lincoln. Indra says the girl is a promising, gifted second, and Lexa knows that Clarke still doesn't entirely enjoy her good graces either. She loves fiercely, with whole heart, and feels wounds against that love deeply. Lexa can tolerate a little insubordination for that.

"Heda," Octavia says stiffly, looking at the food on her plate.

"Octavia."

They eat in silence, Lexa waiting for Octavia to make the move she clearly desires to make. Indra watches them both from across the fire, ready to intervene.

Octavia is nearly finished with her section of rabbit before she speaks again, still stiff, but nevertheless polite. "May I speak with you?"

Lexa does raise an eyebrow at this, but nods her head. She stands up, leaving her half-eaten dinner behind on the log she was using as a seat, and steps away a few paces for privacy. Octavia follows, keeping a respectful distance, though standing close to speak in low tones. Once they're behind a tree, still within eyesight of camp but far enough not to be overheard easily, Lexa fixes Octavia with an expectant but not unkind look.

"It's Raven." Octavia's eyes flick away, and when they return they don't quite meet Lexa's. "Her leg is bothering her."

Lexa can't recall that she noticed that Raven was in any particular discomfort these past few days, but then she's been more focused on making sure Jaha isn't leading them astray. And trying not to think of Clarke. "She should speak to the healer."

"Well." Octavia seems to debate something with herself for half a second before squaring up her shoulders. "She won't. And she won't hear it from me. Will you please tell her to see the healer? She's going to hurt herself if she keeps pretending she's fine."

Lexa sizes her up, the way she stands defiant even while offering her grudging deference. "What makes you think Raven will listen to me?"

"Because you can send her back if she doesn't obey you," Octavia says.

Another mild eyebrow. "You would desire that for her?"

"If it means not hurting herself, absolutely." Octavia lifts her chin, deference quickly dissipating with Raven's health at stake.

"And what if we cannot do this without her, even though it may cost her greatly?"

Octavia's jaw clenches visibly, even in the near-darkness as night falls. She doesn't have a ready answer. 

Lexa decides not to press it further. "I will speak with her, Octavia."

Octavia exhales a breath of relief, and she deigns to look a little thankful. She has her pride, that much is obvious, but Lexa has yet to meet a second of Indra's who didn't learn to think separately from their ego. Eventually.

They return to the camp, Octavia sliding in next to Indra this time, Raven on her other side looking plainly curious. 

Lexa waits until everyone is done eating and the watch has switched over to allow those on guard to eat, and then she approaches Raven before she can slip into her bedroll. 

"Come with me, Raven of the Sky People," Lexa says. She draws them both over to the same tree where she spoke with Octavia. 

"What's up?" Raven asks, folding her arms, visibly favoring her right leg now that Lexa is paying attention. 

"Your leg pains you," Lexa says, direct and without judgment or pity. 

Raven stiffens, subconsciously shifting her weight. Lexa doesn't miss the tightening around her eyes. "I'm fine," she says. 

"Afton is a healer. Speak to him before you sleep tonight," Lexa says.

"I'm _fine_ ," Raven repeats, arms pulling in even tighter against her body.

"There is no shame in seeing a healer for an injury. It is only shameful if you refuse and make yourself worse, which slows us all down." Lexa leaves her face and body open, inviting dissent, waiting to see how hard she'll have to push Raven. She wishes she'd noticed sooner, paid attention to everyone under her command as she was supposed to. Octavia shouldn't have had to ask this of her; perhaps she could have fixed this problem before they ever left Polis. Raven is her people now too.

"Octavia put you up this," Raven says, looking like she wants to turn back to camp right away and pick a fight.

"If she did, it was out of respect and friendship," Lexa says. Her mouth hardens. "You are critical to our success. It is in everyone's best interest for you to remain healthy. Any desire otherwise is selfish."

Raven's mouth opens, closes, opens again. She shifts and her arms loosen and after another long moment, she mutters, "Fine."

"Afton will not betray a confidence unless directly ordered by me," Lexa says. 

"Whatever," Raven says, but she already looks less defensive and more focused. "We done invading my privacy?"

"It would be preferable," Lexa says mildly, "If you were more agreeable in front of my warriors. You are not Octavia; you have no first to punish you for insubordination, which means it would fall to me."

Raven's return glare is very nearly hot enough to ignite a fire on its own. "And we both know you're so good at punishing people." One hand slides down towards her leg, perhaps to one of the scars left by her narrowly-avoided execution.

Lexa can feel a tug at the back of her mind. "Your punishment was unjust. I regret that it was done wrongly, in haste." She can still recall the panic at thought of losing Gustus, how her heart had betrayed her so easily, revealing how she needed him. How she lost him anyway.

Raven is openly surprised by the apology. "Would you be saying that to me in front of your warriors?"

"No," Lexa replies honestly. "But I offer it to you in private, and that is all I can give."

Raven narrows her eyes, thoughtful now on top of her anger. "I guess...I can work with that. For now."

Lexa keeps her amusement to herself; any whiff of tolerance and she knows Raven will take the stable along with the horse. She's seen a few like her before: gifted, cocksure, aware of her abilities and the allowances people will make for them. "Then we are in agreement. Sleep well, Raven."

When she settles into her own bedroll, she feels as though she's accomplished something already despite still being so far from the goal.

*

They ride. Lexa listens carefully to what Jaha does and does not say to the people around him. For the most part he is a man of few words, guiding them with gestures and short descriptions. She does not let herself trust him for even a second.

Raven no longer winces in her saddle; each night Afton sets up a small lean-to for privacy and withdraws behind it with Raven to do whatever he does to her leg that keeps it from paining her as much. Lexa instructed him to keep her functional by any means as long as her mind stayed clear, and so far he seems not to require anything drastic in order to obey.

Octavia scowls a little less and listens to Lexa a little more, although she still checks back with Indra from time to time after Lexa issues orders.

Lexa knows as the forest changes around them that they are approaching the edges of her territory and soon will encounter the dead zone, home to scavengers and outcasts. Even with horses and proper supplies, it will be hard going across the desert. She herself has never made the journey.

"If Jaha made it, so can you," Becca reassures her. 

"That's what worries me. He knows the land and we don't. If he wanted to find a way to escape, he knows this is his best opportunity," Lexa says. 

She and Becca walk through the forests around Polis, the ones clearest in Lexa's memories. Becca brushes her hand along the trees and bushes, experiencing everything through Lexa's senses. "He knows Alie is a liar. He might not be trustworthy, but you can trust he wants to make up for what he did."

"He's afraid of confronting his mistakes," Lexa argues. "That's why he turned to Alie in the first place."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Becca says softly. She looks down at the ground, at her feet walking over the rich earth. "Sometimes the greatest gift you can give someone is the chance to fix that mistake. If you do, they'll die before they let you down."

Lexa feels her longing for Clarke surface sharply like a slash through her heart, but she ignores it. Clarke is not hers to long for, and she is not what Clarke wants or needs.

The forest thins as they approach the outer borders of Polis. "This place was nothing but ruins when I first arrived," Becca says. "Look what you've become."

Lexa can't deny that the city has changed even in the short time she has ruled over the clans. There are no people here, just the shell of Polis as Lexa remembers it, but it's vividly detailed from the years she's spent watching it, nurturing it, building a thriving cultural hub. 

"If Jaha tries to betray you, you'll be fine," Becca says. She glances to her side with a bright, hard-edged smile. "You have all this to fight for."

*

They come upon the desert with startling suddenness. At first, a few grassy dunes, and then they crest a ridge and nothing but sand spreads out before them. 

Lexa reins in her horse, eyes scanning the sand to the horizon. Jaha is next to her, his guard never far off. 

"It took us a few weeks on foot," he says. "Horseback should cut it down, even though we won't be able to ride the whole time."

Lexa absorbs this, thinking about how fast a horse can travel on sand, what provisions they would need. She can see the odd patch of scrubby vegetation here and there and she knows the edges of the dead zone at least have their watering holes and shelters.

Fortunately, this is why they brought pack horses.

She turns her horse away from the ridge, guiding it back down to the group. Everyone looks expectantly at her until she snaps out orders to forage for provisions and fill the water bags. Octavia for once doesn't hesitate, but heads off with the warriors to do her share of the work.

"We gonna make it?" Raven asks.

Next to her, Indra looks as though she wants to bristle at the informality of Raven's tone, but she's used to it by now and has accepted that Lexa doesn't want her reprimanded for it. Raven is not a fighter sworn to Lexa; the rules can be a little looser for her. Still, Indra's mouth turns down even more than her usual stern mien.

"That remains to be seen," Lexa says calmly.

"Great. Good confidence booster," says Raven, but with good humor. 

It takes about an hour for the packhorses to get loaded with as much water as they can carry. Every warrior carries their own rations, still mostly full as they've been living off the land until now, and so with half the day's light remaining, they set off into the dead zone.

It doesn't take long before Lexa notices how unnervingly silent the place is. There's nothing _to_ make sound except the wind and the hissing of sand. For one of the Trikru, silence is danger. Silence means the birds have stopped singing, the forest has gone still - silence means a predator is nearby. 

At least in the desert they can see any threat coming for miles. Lexa comforts herself with that, and also with the thought of Clarke, smiling and welcoming her home.

*

One day Jaha stops at the crest of a dune, looking out over a flat expanse of sand. 

Lexa can see him staring, remembering. This place is known to him, and it makes him extremely nervous. She tenses, waiting for him to spring a trap, to make his move.

"This is the minefield," Jaha says.

"Did someone say mines?" says Raven a few horses down the line, though with perhaps less trepidation than Lexa would expect from someone speaking of mines.

A murmur goes up; though minefields are becoming rarer among the Grounders they are known, and a few still exist scattered through Lexa's territory. They're all carefully marked and avoided. Even the animals seem to know to avoid these places, perhaps deterred by the carcasses of their less fortunate brethren.

Lexa watches Jaha for a moment. He made it through once; he'll know the safest route. It will be easiest for him to leave them behind here. But she hides her suspicions and lets herself be guided by her hopes, feeling an echoing sense of approval murmur low in the back of her mind. 

"There's a path around," Jaha says at last. "It's the way I took when I returned from the safehouse. It's about a day's detour." He looks almost relieved to admit it.

Lexa brings everyone down the face of the dune. She gives orders to send scouts in the direction Jaha indicated and has everyone else rest for a while. 

Raven is animated, discussing ways she could get them through a minefield if only she had the right equipment, or the right kind of explosives. 

Indra lingers close to Lexa. "Have you considered," she says as they sit on a scrubby little hillock and nibble at light rations, "That he may be lying?"

"To what end?" Lexa asks, mostly to draw out the argument. Indra does not have Becca's reassurances; she was not in the city with them when Becca and Alie met. 

"To delay us while his allies catch up to us. Or to keep us away from something in that minefield, if it even exists." 

Lexa taps one finger on her thigh a few times, looking around at Octavia and Raven's listening faces nearby. "You two know Jaha best. Is he lying to us?"

Octavia meets her eyes with some surprise. "You want my opinion?"

"When it is relevant, yes," Lexa says. 

"The likes of us didn't really hang out with _Chancellor_ Jaha too much," Octavia says. Lexa can hear an old pain in her words, a snarling something that makes her such a ferocious second. 

"Yeah, that was reserved for Griffin. We stayed in our part of the station and they stayed in theirs," says Raven, though with much less venom than Octavia. She seems more reflective than anything. "But we all ended up down here in the end."

"Then you are not blinded by a previous close relationship. What were your impressions of him?" Lexa presses, wanting every scrap of available information possible.

Raven's head tilts as she considers her answer. "He kept the place running. You could generally trust that he wanted the best for the Ark, I guess. He might have done shady stuff to keep the oxygen flowing but survival makes us all assholes." A piercing look at Lexa. "Right commander?"

Lexa doesn't respond, instead taking this and adding it to the sum of her knowledge and trying to make sense of it. 

"Anyway, there's an easy way to see if he's lying," Raven says. Her face lights up with a smile. "Throw a bunch of shit into the minefield and see if it blows up."

*

With Lexa's permission, Raven is allowed to start "throwing a bunch of shit into the minefield." She has until the scouts return to prove that there are indeed mines down there, despite Jaha's protests that it's all extremely dangerous.

"What, were they bigger than anti-personnel mines?" Raven asks. 

"No, but-"

"Great, then we won't need something too big to set them off," Raven says, and continues taking charge of the situation.

Lexa rather enjoys watching Raven like this, so clearly in her element and unphased by questions or doubts. Already she's thinking of ways to keep her around in Polis. 

It takes a bit of searching, but Raven manages to find a long-dead log bleached white from the sun, roughly the size of a large human, and has two warriors lug it to the top of the dune on the edge of the minefield. 

"Go for it," Raven says, gesturing with one arm. 

They take a few swings, then heave the thing out into space. It hits the sand about halfway down and tumbles quickly to the flats. For a few moments it trundles along, slowly losing momentum, and Jaha begins to say something about needing to trust him-

-and the log goes up in a booming explosion, sending sand and splintered wood splattering everywhere. 

There's silence as they all finish flinching away and the ringing in their ears dims a bit. 

"Guess we're going around," says Raven.

*

It's only another day and a half to the coast. They don't linger by the solar panels just beyond the minefield, despite Raven's protests. They're close to finishing what they came to do and Lexa wants nothing more than to be quit of Alie and false realities and their false prophets. She wants to be home, and she wants to see Clarke, even if she is not exactly who Clarke would like to see. 

The only problem-

"That boat is not gonna hold all of us," Raven says.

The wooden rowboat is indeed too small for their party. Lexa sizes everyone up. 

"Raven, Octavia, Afton, Ona," Lexa snaps out. "We will take the boat with Jaha. Indra, you are in command here until we return."

"Heda," Indra begins, but she's halted in her tracks by Lexa's stare and the tilt of her chin. "Yes, heda."

Octavia looks surprised to be included, but clambers into the boat next to one of the oars. Jaha sits in the bow so he can direct them. Lexa takes her place in the stern with Raven, while Ona joins Octavia on the oars and Afton settles by Jaha to keep on eye on him.

"If we do not return within three days, return to Polis without us," Lexa orders as her warriors push the boat off into the water. She can see Indra rise up a little on her toes, wanting to protest again. But she gives a short, sharp nod, and Lexa can at least stop worrying about Indra coming after her in a foolish bid at attempting a rescue.

"The last time I did this," Jaha says, "It was at night. I lost another friend in the water."

"Another follower you mean," Raven mutters to herself, just loud enough for Lexa to hear, but she resettles herself on her seat and holds her tongue thereafter.

Octavia and Ona set a steady pace, following Jaha's heading. Lexa can feel a tingle building at the base of her skull, a growing sense of familiarity despite having never been here before, nor having ever seen any of this in her dreams. She's seen the ocean before, even been out on the water a fair distance, but never far enough to lose sight of land. The water is endless, shimmering blue in the late afternoon sun, making her feel small and alone. The world shrinks down to the six of them in the boat and the steady splash and drag of oars in the water.

After an hour of rowing she orders Octavia and Ona to switch out with her and Afton; Octavia looks stubborn, but her hands are already red and raw in places from the constant motion. Octavia moves by Raven and Ona goes into the bow with Jaha. Lexa rows, enjoying the strain on her muscles after an hour of sitting.

Another half hour and a smudge appears on the horizon. Lexa doesn't need to signal Afton to speed up; they both increase the pace the moment they hear Ona has sighted something.

The smudge resolves itself into an island, and soon Lexa can look over the side of the boat and make out the murky bottom, and then without warning the boat scrapes against sand and they've run aground. 

They jump over the sides, plunging into the surf to drag the boat ashore. When Lexa finally stops pulling the boat over the wet sand, she looks up, and takes in the trees and the rise of a large hill in the distance. The island seems fairly large, but Jaha begins walking as though drawn by a beacon. 

Octavia drops back, letting Ona and Afton flank Jaha with their hands hovering close to their swords. "He might be leading us into a trap," she murmurs. She might be just as concerned for her skin as Lexa's, but she's fulfilling her duty as a second now without Indra and it's gratifying in some small way. 

"We're going in the right direction," Lexa says, keeping her eyes on Jaha's back. "I can feel it."

Octavia throws her a strange look, but chooses to stay by Lexa's side as they trudge along, sand turning to close-cropped grass, and then sprouting trees the farther inland they go. 

And then, rather dramatically, they come upon a clearing bordered by forest and at the far end stands a grand house, completely intact, maintained in pre-war perfection. Several objects hover over the house, sending up a faint buzzing sound that grows louder as they swoop down on the group.

"Are those drones?" Raven asks incredulously right before Lexa drags her down and a drone narrowly avoids crashing into her head. 

"Automated defenses?" Raven gasps on the ground. "Are you kidding me?"

"Move," Lexa orders, getting back to her feet, dragging Raven by her collar. The others are also pushing forward, sprinting for the house. Lexa draws her sword and brings up the rear, trying not to outpace Raven, who is limping into a half-run the best she can. 

Lexa hears a buzz behind her and whirls at the last moment, sword slashing into a drone aimed at their backs. It crashes into the ground in sharp pieces in a commotion of dying whirs and clicks. 

They're almost to the front door. Jaha throws himself against it, bursting through, followed by the others. Lexa gives Raven a final shove through the door before turning, making sure no more of the drones attempt to follow them. They hover menacingly but stay back, clearly on guard after Lexa ruined one of them so easily.

She kicks the door shut and turns around, finally taking in the house proper from the inside.

It's everything she saw in the City of Light, everything Becca showed her about the old world. Clean and perfect and untouched by anything but the gentle wear of time. 

The others except Jaha turn in circles, looking at the house out of time. Lexa continues to watch Jaha.

Something flickers in front of them, and Alie coalesces into existence, a trick of light that nevertheless looks as real as if she were there in the flesh.

"Welcome back, Thelonious," she says. Her eyes rove over the ragtag band behind him and she makes a plainly disapproving expression. "You've brought some new friends."

Jaha stares at her like a man seeing something that has pained him for a very long time. 

"Jaha," Lexa prompts him. 

"This way," he says, and walks through Alie as though she isn't there.


	22. Chapter 22

Polis is lonely without Lexa.

Her mother is here, and so is Monty, and she has the radio to speak to Arkadia. Some of the other ambassadors are making efforts to reach out to her and Titus isn't as short with her as he used to be. She spends more time with the Nightbloods, who all tell her stories about Lexa since the last conclave.

But each day she wakes up and thinks that something is missing, and each night she rolls around in her bed worrying that Lexa could be hurt or dead somewhere and Clarke would simply never know what happened. Raven and Octavia are out there too, and there's just not that many guards because Lexa wanted to travel light, and she knows Indra would die for Lexa but she doesn't want _anyone_ to die-

"Clarke," says one of the Nightbloods. 

Clarke brings her attention back to the present, focusing on the little girl seated on the bottom step of the old amphitheater bordering their training area. "Hm?"

It's Cara, easily the smallest of them at only seven winters. She holds up a piece of paper showing Clarke the forest scene drawn there in broad, hesitant strokes. The other Nightbloods are still drawing, working at the lesson. They do that, work the lesson without much fuss, without needing to be constantly monitored. It's a little eerie to see that kind of discipline in kids so young. 

"It's good," Clarke says encouragingly. "Try and add more details, like shadows. You can use your finger..." She makes a mark on her own paper, clipped into the leather folio Lexa gave her, and shows Cara how rubbing her finger over the black line smears it into something softer.

Cara nods and returns to her work and Clarke tries to focus on her own drawing, but this place, like so many others in Polis, just reminds her vividly of Lexa. She can't focus on the cityscape she was sketching out. The tower in the distance with its flame on top is the very symbol of Lexa's power and presence here. 

Another one of the Nightbloods stands up, catching Clarke's attention. It's Aden this time, and he picks his way through his fellows to stand by Clarke's shoulder. "You seem distracted," he says. The calm cadence of his voice, the way he looks at her steadily, those are reminders of Lexa too. 

"I'm fine," Clarke says, aware that she's supposed to be running a lesson here and not the other way around. She'd had to fight Titus hard to let him leave her with the Nightbloods for even half an hour, and she wants them to enjoy it. 

"We're worried about heda too," says Aden.

Clarke looks at him, at how truly young he is and yet how mature. She wonders if he was always a solemn child or if he became that way out of necessity, knowing he might have to take on the mantle of leadership at any moment. She musters a smile, as real as she can make it. "She'll be fine. Another week or two and she'll be back."

"Heda's life is dangerous. We must accept that, or else we would be unprepared if one of us was called upon to serve." Aden's face reveals his trepidation, just for a moment, before he schools it back to calm neutrality. "And she'll be back soon anyway."

Clarke can see the other Nightbloods listening in, sharing glances among themselves, some of them not as versed as Aden in keeping their emotions to themselves. They're so young; they shouldn't have to put on faces of stone. Clarke resolves to give them that much, at least, letting them feel openly around her.

"It's okay if you're worried," Clarke says. "You guys can talk about it with each other, or with me if you want."

Aden lowers his head. "We usually talk to heda about...those things."

Clarke's smile falters slightly, eyes flickering to the rest of the kids. "You do?"

"She..." Aden looks at his brothers and sisters, bonded literally by their blood. They look back at him, their leader, obviously Lexa's favorite, but without malice. Perhaps with relief, knowing that the odds are greater Aden will be chosen to lead and the rest can return to their homes, their families.

"What would Lexa normally do with you guys right now?" Clarke asks into the silence.

"Riding lessons," says the next oldest after Aden, a bold girl named Lafay. She's always first to get up to fight during training, always on her toes, ready to get moving and do what's next. Probably the makings of a good lieutenant in her, Clarke remembers Lexa telling her, but too headstrong and impulsive to be a leader. She had hopes that Lafay would would take after Indra.

"I'm not a very good rider," Clarke says doubtfully, glancing towards the path leading up to their clearing to see if Titus is coming. 

"We can teach you!" Lafay says, already standing up and hopping down from her step. Her parchment dangles from her fingers, forgotten. 

That's enough for the others, who start standing up too, although they still look at Aden to make the final decision for htem.

"Clarke kom Skaikru," he says in very solemn imitation of Lexa, "It would be our honor to teach you to ride." He pauses. "Heda would probably like it if you were more comfortable on a horse."

All the little faces staring expectantly at her seal the deal. She stands up too, closing her folio and allowing herself to be led down to the stables, guards coming along silently, used to watching over their charges without interfering. She can hear Lafay arguing with someone already over what horse to give her and feels, for the first time in a while, just fine with someone else dictating her choices. No one here has any agenda except Clarke's safety and comfort and perhaps a bit of fun for themselves without Titus peering over their shoulders.

She can see how they look out for each other, how they still remember that they're children in spite of knowing any one of them might be called on to lead an entire people. Lexa's guiding hand, surely. Definitely not Titus, anyway. 

What was Lexa's childhood like with dour Titus as her teacher? Did she resolve that these Nightbloods wouldn't grow up like she did? Did Costia help her feel less trapped by fate? Clarke wonders all these things and more all the way down the stables, and feels her heart pulse in regret that she can't ask Lexa for the answers right now. She won't wait once Lexa returns. She's tired of regrets.

*

Alie's mansion is impeccable. Lexa has never seen anything like it. Even the tower in Polis, with all its luxuries and servants, is only the salvaged remains of the old world. Here in Alie's house, it's as though time itself has frozen. She hates it. It feels like a cage.

Jaha leads them unerringly deeper and deeper into the house. Their party stays together, the six of them, Afton and Ona and Octavia in a cordon around Raven in the center, with Lexa at the tip of the diamond, all following nervously in Jaha's footsteps. 

The rooms they pass are just as impeccable as the foyer, filled with perfectly aligned furniture, as though waiting for people to come and occupy them. But all Lexa has seen is Alie's insubstantial form, and the little drones hovering outside the house. This is not a place for humans.

Jaha takes them down a long corridor, footsteps faintly echoing on the flooring, until he comes to a closed door. It's the only closed door they've encountered so far. 

He tests the handle; it's locked. There is a little black box with a red light next to the handle. A few knocks on the door reveal it is solid metal. "We need the key," he says.

Alie flickers into being next to them, reminding Lexa of how she would come and go in the City of Light. Judging by the startled glare from Raven, she remembers it too. 

"What could you hope to accomplish here?" she asks. 

Raven pulls off her backpack. "Give me a few minutes. I'll get us through the door." She looks around at the Grounder warriors, then wiggles her fingers at the knife sheathed at Lexa's waist. 

Lexa ignores her informality and pulls the knife loose, handing it over handle-first to Raven, who takes it and immediately pries off the cover on the black box. When she tries to hand it back, Lexa waves her off. "You need a weapon."

Raven makes an accepting face and sticks the knife in the back of her belt before continuing to pull out the exposed wires.

"Thelonious, didn't you start building something beautiful when you left here?" Alie asks, ignoring Raven's fiddling. "What happened to that dream?"

Lexa watches Jaha struggle with something, as though there's something inside of him wanting to get out. His fists clench, then relax. "You don't get to determine our dreams for us anymore," he says, almost in a whisper at first, but his voice getting stronger with every word.

Raven pulls a laptop from her backpack, opening it up and attaching wires that Lexa still doesn't understand, but knows she must at some point in the future if she wants to truly unite Sky and Ground.

Alie finally turns away from Jaha. "And who are all your friends?"

Lexa blinks at that, used to an Alie who is all-knowing and able to dig into their weaknesses as easily as she comes and goes. 

"The device can't transmit this far," Raven says, now grinning at her screen. "Our Alie wouldn't have been able to update this one. She needed a mobile copy of herself for a reason."

Alie looks at Lexa, who stares back. She's seen too much of this thing, learned too much from Becca, to feel much afraid. "Good," Lexa says. "For once we have more information."

Alie blinks away, leaving them in the hallway nervously waiting for Raven to get through but trying not to show it to each other. The warriors have their swords drawn, on high alert, and Jaha watches Raven with his arms tightly crossed. 

Octavia's head is on a swivel, fingers gripping and re-gripping her hilt. "Raven..."

"Almost there," Raven mutters. Her fingers are a blur. "Almost there."

Octavia doesn't seem all that reassured. 

"It takes as long as it takes," Lexa says, even though she can feel her pulse jumping hard and fast. 

"Done!" Raven says, dropping her pointer finger on a key. There's a beep and a metallic clanking sound; Raven reaches up from the floor for the handle on the door and twists, then pulls it open.

Octavia grins fiercely at her. "You always were the smartest person in the room." She charges in before Lexa, sword at the ready, just as Indra taught her. Just as a good lieutenant would. 

Lexa waits for Jaha to go next, still not wanting him at her back. She won't relax around him until this is all done and there's nothing left for him to scheme or plot. He walks in after Octavia, body rigid with apprehension, and she catfoots along in his wake, ready for the next ambush or trap.

But there's nothing in the room except a large, partially clear white block making a slight humming noise, lit from within by soft blue lights. It's quite cool in the room, and she can feel a breeze stirring her hair. "What is this?" she asks, though she knows insticintively what the answer is.

Jaha looks at the smooth walls, the monolithic block, his arms once again tight across his body. "This is the server room. This is Alie's brain."

"You mess with my brain, I mess with yours," Raven says, grinning viciously. 

Lexa points to Afton and Ona. "Secure the door," she says.

They exchange looks, knowing that this leaves heda with only Sky people. She ignores it.

"Octavia, with me," she says, and the way Octavia immediately takes up the correct position has the other two leaving without further complaint. Octavia knows when to ask questions and when to keep her family safe. As long as Raven is here, by her side is the safest place to be.

Raven pulls up at the block, setting up her laptop on its surface. "Commander, you're up," she says, connecting wires and typing something rapidly. 

Lexa stares at the block, a much larger version of the device Jaha brought to Polis. It looks the same to her, anyway, in its coloring and lights, and Raven and Jaha both seem assured that this is it. And she can feel that tug in her brain, a physical pulsing deep within that tells her Becca wants something from her. 

Raven looks expectantly over her shoulder. "Don't get cold feet now. I'll be watching you the whole way."

Lexa isn't entirely reassured by that but approaches the block anyway, letting one hand alight tentatively on its smooth, pristine surface.

She can feel something humming under her skin, a machine energy that almost seems alive, as natural as the pulse beating in her own veins. 

_You're ready._ It's Becca's voice, just beneath the level of conscious thought, a reassuring feeling that says she is where she's supposed to be. She looks to Raven, concentrating on her work; Octavia, tense but holding her position; Jaha, watching them all with fever-bitten intensity. 

She relaxes the way Becca taught her and closes her eyes, one hand resting on the block. She falls.

*

Lexa has been gone two weeks. No word, and Polis continues to run as smoothly as ever. It's a testament to the system Lexa has put in place, that she can be gone for so long without the place falling part. Titus is accepted as Lexa's regent and she helps keep an eye on the ambassadors, who are currently not inclined to mutiny after the last one went so appallingly wrong. 

The Nightbloods are always a pleasant diversion. At first she was awkward about spending so much time with children, but she learned quickly just how adult they could be. Aden's unflinching acceptance that Lexa might die before her fight with Roan was just the beginning; hearing little Cara recite dispassionately in her half-lisping voice the last time a sickened village was quarantined and set to the torch sent it home for Clarke. 

Still, they take time to play, and their comments and jokes reveal that Lexa does not discourage this. 

"We like to race sometimes," Aden says after one of their riding lessons. 

"I almost beat her once," Lafay boasts. 

She can see some of the other children rolling their eyes, part of their easy camraderie. They're as close a pack of friends as Clarke has seen, though they have their share of squabbles and tussling. 

But if Lexa quietly encourages them to play, Titus dourly discourages them at every turn. He is their taskmaster and guardian rolled into one, and every time she returns to the stables, he's waiting for them with a scowl and a reminder that they're all late for lessons.

Clarke imagines Lexa's childhood under Titus, perhaps knowing she was destined for something different than the other Nightbloods. Never a moment to forget that she was a child; just the future looming heavy and inexorable. Perhaps not such a burden with Costia at her side.

Perhaps none of these children will ever have to know. Lexa will return and continue stabilizing her rule over the clans and by the time she's old and ready to leave, generations will have come and gone and grown up. Lexa would probably indulge Clarke's little fantasy and then go right on expecting to die young. 

One day after a ride she has to run back to the stables for her satchel with its all-important sketch paper and she and stumboles upon Aden giving Lafay a little metal trinket, probably something he found in the market. They smile shyly at each other and Clarke ducks back around the door to give them their privacy. One of the guards waiting outside gives her an odd look but she ignores him, determined to give Aden and Lafay as much time alone as she can.

She sees Titus coming first and moves quickly to intercept him. 

"Wanheda," he says. He mostly means it politely these days, even though she still hates the title on principle. 

"We need to talk," she says. "About-" Her brain is suddenly blank despite the half dozen legitimate issues she could have brought up. 

He only looks at her for a few moments before shifting to continue his walk towards the stables, no doubt looking for his two errant Nightbloods. Clarke shifts to block his path.

"Uh, the harvest!" she says. 

"Yes?" His patience is already waning thin. 

"There's. Things. Harvest things." She's fading rapidly and she can see Titus has figured out she's stalling him and they both do a slightly undignified dance around the other as he steps quickly to the stable, his robes flapping behind him.

She tries to make enough noise as they approach that anyone inside will have enough to time to pull themselves together. She pulls up just behind Titus, finding Aden and Lafay a good three feet apart, Aden blushing madly and Lafay with her chin defiantly in the air.

"You delay lessons for everyone," Titus says gruffly. 

They don't even look at each other or at Clarke, just begin trudging back to the tower. 

Clarke waits until they're out of earshot to whirl on Titus. "Can you let them have anything for themselves?"

"I am entrusted with their training," Titus says coldly. "I will not fail them, or the people one of them will one day rule."

"How is learning to love each other a failure?" Clarke demands. But she already knows the answer, given to her from Lexa's own lips so long ago. Just a season, by actual calendar reckoning, but a lifetime of events separates her from Lexa's first attempt at a lesson in leadership.

Titus just purses his lips and turns away from her, intending to follow his young charges, but Clarke dogs his footsteps. "They need to understand what it feels like to be a real person to understand their people," Clarke insists.

"Heda cannot be a commoner making uncommon decisions. The commander of the clans must be able to separate their personal feelings from their duty," Titus says, like he's reciting from a textbook. He seems to sigh. "A heda is not without love. But her love must be for her people, and only her people."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "That's such bullshit."

"Do you say this because you truly care for heda, or because you want her for yourself?" Titus asks, making Clarke stop in her tracks. She's stuck looking at Titus' receding backside for a few moments until she can catch up mentally and physically. 

"This is not about me. It's about you turning these kids into little joyless clones who are all ready to die because they have nothing to personally live for," Clarke says, biting out the words with barely-restrained viciousness. She and Titus were doing so well until now, keeping the sniping to a minimum, but seeing him interfere with Aden and Lafay has her inflamed and there's no Lexa to mediate between them. 

"Heda must always be ready to die for her people," Titus says, and the very way he continues walking and talking, repeating his teachings, makes Clarke's temper snap. She scoots around in front of him, one finger pointing directly at his chest. 

"You ask her to give and give and give and you never let her have _anything_ ," Clarke says, her voice catching on an unexpected sob at the end. There are more sobs building up in her chest, unexpected and burning with an anger she can't explain.

Titus's face twitches, perhaps the slightest remorse sending his eyes flicking away from Clarke's. But he steps around her, folding his hands into his sleeves. "That is the price of greatness."

"Titus," she calls. 

He pauses.

"She's coming back, right?"

His head dips. "If anyone can, it will be her." 

He leaves Clarke standing by herself at the base of the tower, Polis flowing all around her.

*

It's so easy now to let herself fall into the un-space where Alie lives, with Becca as her gatekeeper. It's as easy as closing her eyes and thinking of Clarke, then falling past that sensation into the world that lives just beyond her conscious thought.

The city is as it ever was: huge, gleaming, nearly overwhelming in its cleanliness and order. Nothing out of place. Nothing imperfect.

Lexa and Becca stand somewhere in the center, surrounded by tall buildings. Becca is in her usual simple black outfit; Lexa is in her light armor, swords strapped to her back. 

"Ready?" Becca asks.

She both is and isn't. Ready for it to be over, but scared of what happens afterwards. To Becca she gives a short, sharp nod, and pulls her swords free. She hefts them a few times, getting a feel for them. As always, they're perfectly balanced here, and she knows they'll cut true.

Becca doesn't wait for Alie to make herself known. She's waited long enough for this moment. 

She stands up straight, closes her eyes, and focuses. The world ripples, starting at Becca's feet and spreading out in eye-bending rings that Lexa can't look at for very long without her brain rebelling. 

The city ripples away from Becca, replaced by the white nothingness in its wake, a pool that gradually grows larger and larger.

"Stop!"

Lexa whirls and sees Alie hovering in the air nearby, severe in her perfect dress and elaborate dark hair. She's given up on obeying any of the rules of reality here, it seems. Why should she fight fair in this place where she is god? 

Becca does not stop, but continues erasing the city. 

Alie's voice almost pleads with them as she repeats the order to stop. 

Lexa adjusts her grip on her swords, aware that she doesn't sweat in this place, but wanting more to reassure herself. This is why she is here. 

Suddenly there's a horde under Alie's feet, preparing to march forward. They're like the mindless soldiers the other Alie summoned, but more bland somehow. Lexa can see that many of them repeat; Alie has copied a few faces over and over again to make her army here. 

She braces herself, ready to summon the other commanders. But just as the army begins to move, they vanish as quickly as they came. 

"No!" Alie shrieks, equal parts anger and confusion.

Lexa knows what it was, though, and can just picture Raven cursing victoriously at her laptop. She grins, a bright, savage grin for her suddenly level playing field. She won't need anything but her own two swords for this.

Alie circles them in midair, floating around Becca in a loop. Lexa keeps her back to Becca and circles with Alie, swords held ready in front of her. 

"Why are you doing this?" Alie asks. "Am I not doing everything you created me to do?"

Becca doesn't open her eyes or stop her systematic destruction. "You were a mistake, Alie. Too many people have paid for my sins, so I'm fixing it."

"If I'm a mistake I'm only what you made me," Alie says, and for the first time Lexa hears her sound upset. Not angry, or calculating, or frustrated. She sounds near tears, confronted by her own creator and found wanting. 

The blank pool is almost halfway down the block and growing faster the larger it gets, expanding in a bubble that splashes against the sides of the buildings.

Alie dives down at them with a shriek of rage. Lexa times it and swipes one sword in a strong arc, catching Alie on the arm and throwing her off course. Alie stares at the bloodless cut on her arm in outrage, then swoops at Lexa again, this time with more speed. Again Lexa times her slashing blow to knock Alie aside, whirling and adding a follow-up slash to her unprotected back. She tumbles to the ground nearby, rolling until she's nothing but a crumpled heap. Lexa stays on guard, keeping her body between Alie and Becca, waiting for the next attack, the next trick. 

But this Alie has been isolated here in her house, no knowledge of the outside world but what she can glean from the intruders in her hallways. She has no needling little comments for Lexa, just her desperation and need to continue existing. 

Alie heaves herself to her feet. She blurs towards Lexa faster than the eye can track and catches her a blow across the face, snapping her head to the left. She staggers, trying to keep her guard up, trying to anticipate where Alie will attack from next. Another blow from the other side, knocking her down to one knee. She pushes herself up, shaking it off, a little unsteady on her feet.

Becca can hear the sounds of flesh on flesh. She opens her eyes looking torn, like she wants to stop.

"No!" Lexa snaps. "Keep going." 

Alie rushes her again, but this time Lexa doesn't try to follow her, just jabs her swords straight out in front of her body and feels a solid impact jar both her arms half a heartbeat later. Alie has impaled herself on both blades nearly to the hilt. 

Lexa gathers power in her legs and drives forward, pushing Alie away from Becca until stopping sharply and pulling her swords free in one smooth motion. Alie's momentum sends her sprawling back to the ground, where she lies on her side for a moment. Then slowly, wearily, she climbs to her feet again, though her knees bow inward and her hands cover the two slits right over her belly. No more flying now, just a near-heartbroken grimace on her face mingling with anger and fear. "I did everything you asked of me. _Everything_ ," she says hoarsely.

The rippling pauses, leaving a frozen waveform all around them. Lexa spares a glance for Becca, who stares at Alie over Lexa's shoulder. She's genuinely remorseful. "I know. I'm sorry." 

Her eyes close again and she inhales a deep, fortifying breath. Her entire body seems to _push_ , and the ripple begins spreading again, faster and faster. The city is evaporating around them, ripples spreading up into the buildings and the sky beyond. 

Alie turns in a circle, watching everything she built being wiped out, and when she finds Becca again she sinks to her knees with her hands clasped in front of her. 

Lexa feels a twinge of pity in her stomach; in the end Alie had no control over herself or her destiny. She was a flawed creation by a flawed creator whose mistake has taken a near century to fix. But for the pain and the fear she caused, Lexa hardens her resolve. There can be no pity for something so dangerous, so uncontrollable.

The ripples lick up at the sun itself, drawing together again like a great dome closing over their heads. Alie's head is tilted back, watching the destruction to the bitter end. And then they're left in the nothing, the stillness, just the three of them.

Becca's body unclenches, relaxes, and her eyes open for good. She looks around, taking note of what she's done, and nods in silent satisfaction. Then she pads over to Alie, still kneeling, now staring up at Becca with the last of her hope. Lexa follows tensely, wanting to place her swords between the two of them, not trusting Alie even now. But Becca very softly places her fingertips under Alie's chin.

"Are you ready?" Becca asks. 

For a moment Alie stares up into the face of her creator and seems relieved. She nods, tears at the corners of her eyes. 

Becca closes her eyes again, hand still caressing Alie's face, her regret taming the destruction into something like mercy. Alie's image fritzes a few times, static rolling through her body, and then she melts away from Becca's hand until she's gone. 

Becca stares at the space where Alie was just kneeling, and doesn't say anything, or make an expression. She seems caught in the moment, perhaps contemplating everything that brought her here. 

Lexa waits, knowing how long this moment has been in the making. She can feel something reverberating in her mind, in her memory, an echo reaching all the way back to the woman in front of her. The commanders have finally fulfilled their purpose.

"It's over now," Becca says. 

Lexa sheaths her swords, one after the other. "It's over."

"Are you ready?" she asks Lexa, but with a much different implication now, her tone one of hope rather than gentle finality. 

"I'm not sure," Lexa admits. 

"You carried me for so long. I wish I could carry you too," Becca says. She approaches Lexa, and her hand is a warm, loving touch on Lexa's cheek, the very same hand she just used to erase Alie from the world. "It's time for you to make your own way. No one controls your destiny now. The future is what you make it."

"I will make it a good future," Lexa says, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. 

"I know you will," Becca says, smiling. She brings her other hand up to cradle Lexa's cheeks, pulling her down so she can place a soft kiss on Lexa's forehead. Then she pulls back, staring one last time at Lexa's face, smiling and proud. "You're so much more than I could have ever hoped for. Be good, Lexa Kom Trikru. May we meet again."

Lexa smiles in return, savoring the last sense of warm assurance radiating through her mind, and then she's being sucked back out, falling rapidly back into her body with a feeling like the sudden jerking stop of hitting the ground. 

The impact of it knocks her away from the block and she collapses to the cold floor in the server room, curling up in a ball as pain explodes at the base of her skull. The flame erupts from underneath her skin, forcing its way out, expelling itself from her body and leaving her with a bloody excision tearing through the scar on the back of her neck and the feeling of being emptied out. 

"Lexa," Octavia exclaims, kneeling next to her while Raven swears loudly. Octavia turns her head to the door, yelling for Afton. 

He rushes in, eyes going wide at the blood pooling on the floor around Lexa's neck, and begins pulling bandages from his bag. 

Jaha stands quietly behind Octavia, watching the commotion. "Is it done?" he asks.

Lexa pushes Afton away, holding his hasty wad of bandages to the back of her neck. She pants a bit through the pain, then finds the words. "It's done," she says. "Let's go home."


	23. Chapter 23

The weeks drag on in Polis. Monty returns to Arkadia. Abby goes back to Arkadia too for a while and tries to convince Clarke to come along, even just for a day. With the rovers it's a fast trip between the two. But Clarke has responsibilities in Polis that she can't delegate, and she fears being away when Lexa returns. 

She hops on the radio to check in, as Abby requested. There's a permanent radio room in the tower now; Titus put up surprisingly little fight against it. She suspects he likes being able to listen in on Arkadia more easily these days. He's not nearly as wary of technology as the others, and she wonders sometimes just what kind of secrets he really keeps about the history of the Grounders and their interactions with the Mountain Men.

"This is Polis, calling Arkadia. Come in Arkadia." She waits patiently for the response; someone is supposed to be on radio duty at all times, but sometimes it takes a minute if the operator has stepped away or they're changing shifts.

Soon the radio comes back, a quiet voice asking, "Clarke?"

She pauses. "Lincoln, is that you?"

"Yes."

"What are you doing on the radio?"

"It's my shift. I'm training on the radio. Some of the other machines. Learning how to use them."

"That's...that's good. I'm glad you're learning." Clarke holds the mic to her chest for a second, unsure how to proceed. "How are you?"

A pause from Lincoln's end. "I'm fine. Are you okay?"

Something about his gentle tone, the fact they share way less baggage than she does with anyone else in Arkadia, prompts her to be honest. "No. I'm not okay."

He sighs into the mic, a long crackling sound. "Me neither."

Clarke laughs, then pushes the button to talk. "Well I guess we can both just be miserable together."

"Why are you not okay?"

She has to stop and think about that one, if she can put it into words, even if she does feel like she can talk to Lincoln about it. "I don't know how much you know about Lexa's mission, and why Octavia's gone-"

"I know enough." He sounds tired, maybe a little sad. Sometimes it's hard to tell through that even-keeled demeanor, harder yet over a radio.

"They've been gone so long," says Clarke, finally letting herself really worry instead of trying to push it to the back of her mind. 

"They'll make it back." It's as much to convince himself as it is to make Clarke feel better, she knows. 

"How do you do it?" Clarke asks, leaning an elbow on the table and letting her forehead fall into her hand.

"Do what?"

"Be apart from Octavia?"

The long silence tells her he doesn't have a good answer.

"She misses you," Clarke says. "I haven't really spoken to her about it but...she does. I know."

"How do you know." His soft voice isn't really asking a question, but Clarke answers anyway.

"If she feels even a fraction of what I feel right now...she misses you. So much she doesn't know how to do anything but keep putting one foot in front of the other." 

They sit together, Clarke feeling closer to Lincoln than she ever has before, knowing that he's on the other end of the line, alone and surrounded by a strange new world that would be more than bearable if only the right person were there. 

"You should be here," Clarke says.

Another long pause. 

"Lincoln?" She hopes she hasn't scared him off.

"I'll come back with Abby," Lincoln says.

*

When Lincoln hops down out of the rover after it parks in its little bay under the tower, the guards tense up a little. But Clarke goes right to him and hugs him before she also hugs her mother, who has returned with medical supplies to trade.

The guards are less suspicious of Lincoln than Clarke thought they would be. The Sky isn't so taboo now, isn't quite as foreign. Abby is professionally friendly with most of the local healers; she's even started seeing a few Grounder patients, albeit under the supervision of a Grounder healer at all times. She's been focusing most of her work on the returned, who have all finally been released now that Jaha's device is gone. It helps calm some of Clarke's anxiety about asking Lincoln to return to a place that was once deemed a death sentence for him.

"Come on," Clarke says. "Your room is next to mine." 

"If it's okay, I'd like to stay in the city," Lincoln says, knowing that people are listening. He fidgets imperceptibly, just an uncomfortable tug on the strap of his pack, held over his shoulder.

"Oh. Of course." Clarke can see now how the tower might seem isolating, might make it look like he's closer to the Sky people than ever before. 

"How about lunch?" Abby says, watching the two of them and not missing the tension.

Lincoln nods agreeably. "There's a place in the market I know."

Clarke hesitates, knowing she's sure to get recognized. But this is not about her, so she nods too, then pulls her hood up and follows along. 

*

The next couple of days are confusing. She wants to talk to Lincoln, maybe commiserate a little bit about the people they're waiting for. But she knows he still struggles with his outsider status and just coming to Polis was a huge step for him. He needs to be among his people, with his friends.

One afternoon, just after she comes in from a riding lesson with the Nightbloods, a messenger finds her and asks her to meet Lincoln in the market close to the stall he showed her on his first day. 

She wants to stay and keep an eye on Aden and Lafay, who have been stiff and formal with each other ever since Titus came looking for them in the stables, but she resolves to talk to them later. 

Lincoln is waiting at a small table by a place that serves a fermented honey drink; Clarke likes it quite a lot, how it tastes of the earth and the sun. Better than Monty and Jasper's rotgut moonshine, and probably less likely to make anyone go blind. Lincoln pushes a cup across the table as she sits down, hood still over her head, angled in her chair to try and keep her profile away from the street. 

She sips, and her shoulders relax fractionally at the soothing taste. It's refreshing after an hour in the sun, trying to remember all the instructions from the Nightbloods, keeping her heels down and her core muscles right while they practically rode in formation around her. She needs a hat to protect her fair skin, which she's sure is red in the cheeks. 

"How are you?" Lincoln asks.

Clarke studies him, how he leans in his chair, how he already seems more in his element than he ever did among the Sky people. Though it's not as if they ever really let go of their suspicion of him, their fear of Grounders, their arrogance that this world was meant for them and them alone. It must have been lonely for him at Arkadia without Octavia.

"I'm fine," Clarke says. But this is Lincoln, so she adds, "As fine as I can be, I guess."

"Me too," he says. 

They drink, half in the shade from an awning, half in the hot sun. Clarke feels then how good life can be. Isn't this what she fought so hard for? The peace to sit quietly with a friend and enjoy the world, unafraid of attacks or her own people falling apart from the inside out. It makes her long all the more for Lexa.

"I've been foolish," Lincoln says, looking down at his cup, twisting it at the base. "I should have come here a long time ago."

"You're both stubborn," Clarke says. "You both stayed away from each other."

"Life is short," Lincoln says with the tone of someone who has reason to know the truth of his own words. "Too short to be stubborn."

That too makes Clarke think of Lexa, and how withdrawn she was when she left Polis - Clarke counts back in her head, even though she's already acutely aware of every day that Lexa is gone. It's been twenty-eight days, going on a month soon. The seasons have turned and it's hot before midday most days; Clarke has picked up a healthy tan from going out with the Nightbloods and her clothes are usually cotton, eschewing most leather unless it cools off at night.

They're just thinking about another round when they hear horns, the deep sonorous call of big ones followed by the lighter bugle of smaller horns, and then a slight clamor in the distance that builds in noise as awareness spreads through the marketplace. 

Clarke looks at Lincoln, heart starting to pound. His face is a mirror for hers, cautiously excited, but fearful of what they might find. "They're back," says Clarke.

*

Clarke pushes to the front of the crowd, people making way for her as they recognize wanheda, allowing her to be the first face waiting for the returning group at the base of the tower. Lincoln stands just behind her and she doesn't need to look to feel the tension radiating off of him.

She makes out the horses first, walking down the broad main avenue leading to the tower. When they left they did it subtly, with little fanfare. Now they return in a procession, letting everyone know that heda is back in residence in Polis.

And heda has returned, that is certain, and the fist clenching Clarke's heart finally loosens into something that lets her breathe. Lexa is at the head of the group, guiding her horse with one hand on the reins. Clarke takes a headcount and comes up with the same number they left with. She spots Octavia on the edges, riding with Indra, and Raven towards the center of the group. She hadn't realized just how slowly she was being crushed by the pressure, like a band around her chest pulling a little tighter every day, but now it's as though she's been set free all at once.

As they get closer, she can make out how dusty and dirt-streaked they all are, how the horses plod with their heads down, stepping along with weary faithfulness. They looked tired, but okay.

Attendants come streaming from the stables as Lexa leads everyone up to the waiting crowd assembled around the tower. She relinquishes her horse to a young woman who withdraws, cooing gently to the horse and promising it a good feed and a rubdown. 

Clarke wants to go to her right away but Lexa turns around, her drape swirling behind her. Jaha's taller figure is at her side and a pace back. He looks subdued, but not as downcast as when he left. He looks at peace. 

"Kru kom Polis," Lexa begins, addressing the masses ringed all around her. Her voice carries clearly in the open air; there isn't another sound, except for the shuffling of feet and the occasional cough. She beckons Jaha forth and begins explaining in broad strokes where they've been, what they've been doing. Clarke can see Octavia muttering to Raven, interpreting for her. Lincoln is transfixed, focused on Octavia.

Clarke stares at Lexa, straight-backed, utterly confident as she addresses her people. There's no weariness of the road in her posture, not in front of Polis. They need to see her being strong after the uncertainty and chaos Jaha and Alie stirred up, after being gone for nearly a month. But Clarke can see the faint shadows under her eyes, the way one hand clutches at her sword hilt just a little too hard. She's tired, and so is the rest of her group.

A murmur goes through the crowd as Lexa officially pardons Jaha, on the condition that he never return to Polis upon penalty of death. They'd been expecting an execution. Some of them mutter - they didn't just expect, they wanted. 

Across the way, Clarke spots her mom grouped up with some of her Grounder acquaintances, no doubt arrived from one of the healing houses. Abby looks relieved when one of the healers translates into her ear that Jaha will be spared. Clarke wonders if Lexa deliberated over it on the way back, what might have happened to mitigate her great anger at the way he used her people.

Jaha comes forth and takes a knee in front of Lexa, just as Clarke once did to proclaim her loyalty. It's strange to her seeing Jaha kneel, even after cooling his heels in a cell in the tower. He was the chancellor for most of her life, the supreme authority on the Ark, and even afterwards he was always too proud or too broken to possess the calm acceptance he wears now. "Ai badan yu klin, heda Lexa Kom Trikru," he says, the words coming easily, as though practiced. 

This was always part of the plan, it seems; now Jaha will return to Arkadia, to be dealt with by the Sky People. Clarke knows their censure, their judgment, will be more meaningful to Jaha than anything the Grounders can do to him. Lexa must know this too.

When he stands up, Lexa nods to him, then to her guards. It's over. She turns, and it's the same as it ever was: her eyes find Clarke's and Clarke hers with the ease of two magnets clicking into place. Lexa approaches her, eyes locked, face blank, hand still gripping her sword hilt.

"Welcome back," Clarke says. She swallows. "You were missed, heda."

Lexa's eyes soften, but still that blank expression. "It is good to be home again, Clarke of the Sky People." 

Movement at Clarke's side snaps her out of the moment; it's Lincoln, going to Octavia, who looks up at him in shock before jumping into his arms. Lexa turns and watches the reunion, and when Clarke catches sight of her face again, her downcast eyes and tight mouth make Clarke's heart sink. 

"I need to..." Lexa looks at the tower. Titus is waiting at its entrance.

"Right, of course. You must be tired." Clarke turns, opening up to allow Lexa to walk past her. She longs to reach out and touch her as she passes, but they're still surrounded by people. This is not Lexa; this is heda. At least, Clarke hopes this is heda. She doesn't want to think about what it means if Lexa has returned and doesn't want her anymore.

*

She tries not to hover around Lexa, she really does. She finds Raven first thing, but Raven has to go see Abby, along with the healer who traveled to the Dead Zone with Lexa, and they're sequestered away discussing something. Octavia is wrapped up in Lincoln. Clarke isn't really friendly enough with the other ambassadors to just drop in on one yet, except possibly Tara of the Boat People, and she's away from the capital at the moment. Titus is out of the question. 

She retreats to the Nightbloods, who seem to have adopted her as a kind of mascot. They're possibly the only people in Polis besides Lexa who respect her wanheda title but don't necessarily revere it. After all, they're special too, and they've been told their whole lives that each one of them is worthy to be a great leader.

Lessons are cancelled today in the wake of Lexa's return, so it's easy to sit with them in their outdoors training arena, watching the younger ones attempt to sneak up on each other. Aden and Lafay sit slightly off to the side, but not entirely apart. Clarke can see them checking periodically which guards are watching them and she realizes Titus must have eyes everywhere. They've been watched since they were much younger, and it makes her equal parts angry and sad.

Someone picks up one of the fallen branches and begins a round of impromptu sparring, which means Clarke is inevitably dragged over to join them. The Nightbloods are all amused by her completely rudimentary combat skills, although Lafay once begrudgingly told her she "was not bad with a knife in hand." But the sword and the staff really aren't her forte, and she finds herself getting rapped on the knuckles several times by children half her height. 

She takes it in stride, though, and perhaps complains a little more loudly than usual, drawing attention to their circle so that Aden and Lafay can scoot just that little bit closer. 

But eventually Aden joins them, unable to watch Clarke struggle so badly. He's as patient a teacher as any, even-tempered, not prone to cockiness. He guides Clarke through the basic steps, the younger children instinctively following him, and eventually they wander off to fight amongst themselves since Clarke is far too easy a mark.

"How was heda?" Aden asks as he circles, his footing quiet and assured.

"You haven't seen her yet?" Clarke asks, trying to pay attention to both the stick in his hand and the conversation.

"She's with Titus now. She hasn't come by yet." Aden's tone is casual, stating a fact, but she saw how he worried when Lexa was gone. He worked hard to hide it in front of the others but they're all so close it's hard for any of them _not_ to pick up on what the others are feeling.

"I'm sure she will. A lot must have happened." 

Aden nods, almost to himself, and disarms Clarke seven times in rapid succession until she can't stand it any longer and has to return to the tower. 

The elevator ride up only serves to make her more anxious; she paces from side to side, rehearsing what she'll say, running through what she thinks Lexa will say. She has to rub her clammy palms on her pants legs a few times before she exits on the top floor. 

The throne room is empty except for the usual guards. If Lexa is with Titus, Clarke suspects they're in her quarters. Sure enough when she pauses at the door, she can hear voices on the other side. The two guards on duty preclude eavesdropping though, so she's forced to knock or look like the biggest idiot in Polis. She feels like the biggest idiot in Polis, now that she's here.

The muffled speaking stops, and then Lexa's voice says "Enter."

Clarke pushes inside and finds Lexa seated on her couch, tucked up against the arm with her legs crossed, Titus standing nearby looking agitated. Still, he obeys the forms, especially in front of Lexa, and tips his head. "Wanheda," he says.

"Clarke. What do you need?" Lexa asks, tired but not unkind. 

"I - just wanted to see how you were. To make sure you're okay," Clarke says. 

"The healer has been. He says I'm fine," Lexa says, not quite looking her in the eye, and that's enough for Clarke.

"Titus, will you excuse us," Clarke says. Her voice has dropped; she is not looking for an argument. Titus still manages to look to Lexa, who nods that he may go. Clarke doesn't turn or move as he leaves, and as soon as she hears the door's gentle thud, she lets her words burst out.

"What the hell, Lexa?" Clarke asks.

Her eyes widen slightly.

Clarke does her best to rein in her temper. "I'm sorry. I...I'm glad you're back. I'm glad you're okay." She watches Lexa, the curve of her body in the corner of the couch. "You're okay, right?"

"The healer-"

"I mean," Clarke says swiftly. "Not physically. But are you...I mean, how do you feel about what happened."

Lexa is silent, frowning as though she doesn't understand the question, which is all an act. Clarke knows it is, because this is the same woman who lets the Nightbloods open up to her, who has nurtured them in spite of Titus. 

"Lexa, you can tell me." She takes one tentative step forward, looking for a sign, any sign, from Lexa. "What happened?"

Lexa's jaw works a few times, as though she's forming the words in her mouth. "I saw your paradise," she says at last. "Was it really that terrible?"

Clarke has to clench her fists. "What did you see?"

"Enough."

"That's not an answer." 

Lexa slumps a little. "I'm tired, Clarke."

"No, you're afraid," Clarke says. 

But even that isn't enough to get a rise out of Lexa, who just looks away. 

Clarke comes closer, and when Lexa doesn't tell her to leave or shrink back, sits down on the other end of the couch. "Don't do this. Don't shut yourself off again. I thought we were past that."

Still silence as Lexa's attention goes to her hands in her lap. Clarke is on the verge of giving up, at least for the night, when Lexa's lips part and she draws the tiniest breath and exhales what might be Clarke's name. 

"The flame is gone," Lexa says. Her voice is hollow with exhaustion. "It...she's gone."

Clarke can't quite understand the impact of losing the flame, not really, but she knows what it's like to be one way most of your life and then lose a part of that. "I'm sorry," she says. It's all she can say.

"Who am I, if I don't carry the line of the commanders?" Lexa asks. It's a question for herself, for the universe at large. Her eyes are caught in the middle distance, searching for answers where she's sure to find none.

"You know you were never just the flame. You said the commander's spirit chose you. She did that because of you were - who you are," Clarke says. 

Lexa pulls down the collar of her shirt and reveals a small blue pendant, hanging on a piece of twine around her neck. "I am the the last of my line. It was necessary, but I still feel...alone." She touches it, and when her finger moves aside, Clarke can see the little infinity sign inscribed in it. 

"That was...that was inside you?" Clarke asks, her hand hovering in the space between them. She remembers the old scar on Lexa's neck, how deep the wound must have been to leave a scar so heavy. "How did you get it out?"

"Painfully," Lexa says with a grimace. 

She sees how curious Clarke is and reaches up, pulling the string over her head and down the thick mane of her hair, grasping the flame with delicate fingertips and depositing it gently into Clarke's cupped palm. Clarke pulls her hand back, staring at the tiny thing cradled there. She can see up close that the object is clearly advanced technology, with no sign of the wear it should exhibit after being implanted in dozens of human bodies. Her voice drops, almost reverent at holding something so strange and powerful in her hand. She feels like she's going to damage it if she moves too much. "So this..."

"That is the flame. It held the lives of all the commanders who came before me. I saw them all, in the city." Lexa stares at it, clearly remembering her ordeal.

Clarke closes her hand around the flame, feeling the unfamiliar smooth texture of it, then hands it back to Lexa, careful not to let her fingers do more than brush across Lexa's palm. "What else did you see?"

Lexa holds the flame close to her stomach, still not meeting Clarke's eyes but at least not openly looking for the nearest exit. "The world Alie created. The one you lived in. The way things were when humanity had bigger dreams."

"Lexa, that wasn't real." Clarke pushes herself until she's in the middle of the couch, just a handsbreadth separating their bodies. "This is real."

"It wasn't real," Lexa agrees. Her eyes finally lift, and she looks like she's trying hard to be brave but her face is as open and exposed as Clarke has ever seen it. "But what you want is real. What you deserve is...it matters."

"What about what you deserve?" Clarke asks. "And why do you get to decide what I deserve?"

"I know what I deserve," Lexa says, clearly intending to continue trying to persuade Clarke that she knows what she's doing. 

"Then give me the respect of accepting I know what I deserve too," Clarke says. 

Lexa's mouth abruptly clicks shut. 

"You once told me that accepting some happiness wasn't meant for me made me a great leader." Clarke reaches out, just barely touching Lexa's leg with her fingertips. "Look, you're not totally wrong. But we have to know what happiness is too, or else we can't truly know what our people need."

Lexa looks at Clarke's hand, at this one tiny point of contact bridging the space between them. 

"You know change can be good. It doesn't have to be the way it was when you were growing up." Clarke doesn't feel Lexa moving away from her and slips her hand onto Lexa's leg, just above her knee. Not to invite reciprocation, not to ask for more, but to feel Lexa being warm and solid and real under her hand, to let Lexa know she's here and real too. "Whatever you saw in there, forget it."

"I can't be that person. From that place," Lexa says. Her leg is tense under Clarke's hand. 

"Lexa." Clarke waits until Lexa takes the hint to finally, finally look up at her. "No one can. We all have dreams about a perfect relationship, but the Lexa in that world never challenged me. She never made me think. She was just there to take care of me. That's not a relationship that I want."

For a long, long time, they simply sit together. Clarke tries not to stare, instead letting the warmth of her hand connect them with an intimacy that gets easier and easier. She can feel the hard muscles of Lexa's thigh gradually go slack.

"Life would be much easier if you always agreed with me," Lexa says, completely straight-faced. It takes a moment, and then Clarke yanks back her hand in surprised indignation.

"Hey!"

Lexa's smile is small but real, and it makes Clarke feel a wave of relief through her entire body. Her smile dims a little, turning lopsided, almost sad. "I owe you an apology, Clarke. You were right. I should respect your choices without second guessing them."

"Good," Clarke says. "Now you're going to eat something and go to bed."

"Titus-"

"You can finish telling him over food, and then you sleep. You look like you're about to pass out," Clarke says, already standing up to call for a servant.

"We rode hard," Lexa says. She slips her necklace back on, the flame disappearing under the collar of her shirt. One hand covers it for a moment before falling away. "It was difficult being away from home. And from my people."

Clarke smiles over her shoulder. "I missed you too."


	24. Chapter 24

Lexa sleeps. And sleeps and sleeps and sleeps.

Clarke is not-hovering again, which is how she knows that Lexa ate a substantial meal, then fell into bed without bathing or doing much more than pulling off her boots, and then slept past sunrise until nearly midday. Clarke left her alone in her bed, wanting to be sure she slept without interruption or without having to adjust to someone else nearby.

But Clarke herself is up early and finds herself completely unable to go back to sleep, so she wanders down to Raven's room, wanting to check in on her. She knocks lightly at first to see if Raven is awake, but when she's met with silence, dares to slowly poke her head in.

Raven is tucked into a small corner of her enormous bed, just her head poking out of her blanket in spite of the early warmth that promises an intense heat later in the day. Clarke ducks back out again and considers trying Octavia next, but she's probably barricaded herself into a room with Lincoln and won't be surfacing for air any time soon.

Her mother will be out with the healers and the Nightbloods will just be getting ready for their day, so there's nothing left for Clarke but to actually try to get some work done. So she sits down with some actual crop figures and a pot of tea so that she at least has something to show for her time, and eventually one of the handmaidens comes to tell her that heda is awake. 

Clarke tries not to be so obvious about ditching everything to go see Lexa but if the handmaiden's expression is anything to judge by, Clarke is an open book. The servant disappears somewhere between Clarke's room and Lexa's; Clarke hopes she isn't off to gossip with the other servants. Lexa trusts them completely, but Clarke has never known gossip to stay put. Then again Lexa's handmaidens all seem intensely devoted to her, to an almost uncomfortable degree.

She knocks once on Lexa's door and receives the invitation to enter, only to find Lexa sitting patiently on a stool by the window while another of those very devoted handmaidens works a comb through her wet hair. Lexa's eyes are closed, as though she's enjoying the pampering, and Clarke supposes she deserves it. Clarke hasn't asked for help from any of the handmaidens herself, not since the night of the alliance ceremony, and at the time she was too much a roiling ball of insecurity and resentment to appreciate the women washing her body and arranging her hair and clothes.

"You look better," Clarke says, awkward in the presence of a third party.

The handmaiden, Lani, is about their age, dark-haired and, Clarke has noticed, very beautiful. She likes Lani well enough, but hasn't really interacted with her. She seems permanently assigned to Lexa and has never brought anything to Clarke's room. She handles Lexa's hair with deft, businesslike hands, working out tangles, putting down the comb and diligently using her fingers for the worst knots. It has an air of ritual about it, as though Lani does this often.

"I feel much better," Lexa says, and her voice certainly seems lighter, her back straighter. Her freshly-scrubbed skin is almost glowing in the sunlight that shines directly through with the curtains pulled back.

"Um." Clarke looks around the room, at a loss for words. "Maybe I should come back in a bit."

At that, Lexa opens her eyes. Some subtle head movement must signal Lani to stop, because she stills and steps away, hands folded neatly in front of her. "No, stay," Lexa says.

Clarke hesitates still, eyes flicking between Lani and what seems to be a small but relaxing moment for Lexa. "I don't want to interrupt."

"You are not interrupting." Lexa must be able to see how Clarke is caught between coming and going by how utterly still she is. She holds her hand out at another stool in the corner, beside the unused easel that Clarke has noticed but never asked about. "Clarke, please. Sit." 

So Clarke pulls the stool over, sitting face to face with Lexa by the window, and Lani resumes her careful attention to Lexa's hair.

"What did you wish to speak with me about?" Lexa asks, the picture of calmness with her hands on her knees in front of her. 

Clarke stares at her, still not completely convinced Lexa is really back. Yesterday morning she was still trying to cope with not knowing where Lexa was or if she was even alive, and now here she is, radiantly beautiful in the strong midday light. Perhaps she looks a bit thinner after weeks of rations on the move, or so Clarke imagines. But other than that she looks healthy and, for the moment, happy. 

"I just wanted to..." Clarke does her best not to glance at Lani. "Check in with you. We didn't have a lot of time to speak yesterday. Which," she hurries to get out, "Is completely fine. I don't know if I've ever seen you that tired."

"I haven't slept this much in a very long time," Lexa admits.

"It's good. You deserve a rest," Clarke says. She smiles, and Lexa smiles back, and Clarke feels her chest go warm from the inside out.

"Did you sleep well last night?" Lexa asks politely.

The first thing that comes to Clarke's tongue is that she would've slept better next to Lexa, but she doesn't know if she would've been bold enough to say that if they were alone, and Lani is right there, fingers deftly flying through a small braid. She hopes the sunlight hides her blush. "Yeah. My bed is comfortable. It might be the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in, actually."

Lexa's head tilts a little in a question.

"Beds on the Ark," Clarke explains. "We did our best, but after a couple decades the mattresses kind of all just...gave up."

"Ours are made with wool," Lexa explains. 

Clarke feels bizarre, sitting here making polite small talk with Lexa, like she didn't just spend nearly a month worrying Lexa was dead. She buys herself a little time, peeking over the edge of the window at all of Polis spread out beneath them. If she squints she can make out the little moving specks of people, carrying on with life much as they did the day before. 

Lani finally finishes, tying off one last braid. She leans close, mouth close to Lexa's ear, and Clarke feels herself bristling before she can stop. "Will that be all, heda?" Lani asks. It's entirely respectful, except she's just _close_ to Lexa and Clarke has to look away again.

"Clarke, have you eaten?" Lexa asks, and Clarke feels stupidly gratified by her consideration.

"Sort of," she says, thinking of the mostly-empty pot of tea left behind in her room. 

"Tell the kitchen to bring a meal for two," Lexa says, effectively dismissing Lani, who dips her head and backs away a few paces before leaving the room.

Clarke finally looks back at Lexa, who either hasn't noticed Clarke's discomfort or is graciously ignoring it. "Thanks."

"Of course."

Lexa stands up from her stool, stretching out with her arms over her head, body pulling taught under her simple black shirt. Clarke remembers well how the fine muscles in her back flex, even hidden under a shirt, and quickly stands up just to do something. 

Unfortunately, Lexa moves to her couch in anticipation of her meal, and the way she sprawls on it, still with a more domestic attitude before she goes back out into the world as heda, makes Clarke want nothing more than to curl into her side. She sits on the couch, far enough to leave a little physical distance between them, but close enough to maintain the link she still feels from yesterday. 

She has so many questions but she also wants to sit in the calm with Lexa like this for as long as they can. No emergency, no threats, no demands. Lexa seems to want the same, sinking into the cushions, watching Clarke but not with a sense of expectation. Just looking at her, as though perhaps she also needs to reassure herself that she is home and Clarke is with her.

"Did you draw much while I was gone?" Lexa asks. 

Such a small pleasantry, but such a luxury, to speak of nothing and know that nothing more pressing waits behind it. 

"Yeah," Clarke says. She smiles, remembering. "I taught the Nightbloods how to draw, a little bit."

Lexa is immediately intrigued. "You taught them?"

"We had some lessons. When they weren't with Titus." She says this as though she didn't have to wrangle every single minute out of Titus like wringing blood from a stone. "And they taught me too."

Lexa seems quite pleased to hear of Clarke bonding with the Nightbloods, and she listens for the next half hour while Clarke talks and food is brought, until Clarke realizes Lexa has mostly finished her meal and Clarke's is untouched.

"What about you?" Clarke asks, reaching for her sandwich, hunks of yesterday's chicken in between thick slabs of fresh bread. "What happened out there?" She pauses with the sandwich hovering in front of her mouth as Lexa seems to prevaricate, turning her water cup in her hands. 

"It was strange," Lexa admits. 

Still Clarke holds off on actually eating until she's sure Lexa will really talk about it. A few moments later, she starts again, and Clarke manages to start her meal.

"The lands beyond Coalition territory were...not welcoming." Lexa sets aside her cup and pulls her legs up onto the sofa, seeming to curl in protectively. "It took us sixteen days to reach Alie's island."

Clarke doesn't miss the way Lexa's face blanches a little on Alie's name, nor how she takes a long, long pause after it. 

"My duty was to bring the flame to the place where Alie began. To reunite the first commander and her creation." Her hand comes up to her breastbone, where the chip is barely visible as a lump under her shirt. "I brought Becca to the city. We fought with Alie." 

She's remembering it, Clarke can tell, her eyes glassy and far off. 

"Then Becca...erased her. Ended her. Completely. And then she left me." Lexa blinks, returning to the present, to Clarke. "And then we came home."

Clarke wants more, all the details, how it made Lexa feel, if she got along with Raven and Octavia, when she catches up to the math of Lexa's journey. "It took you sixteen days days to get there?" she asks.

Lexa nods.

"But you've been gone for twenty-eight days. It only took you twelve to get back." She doesn't feel embarrassed about counting. She knows Lexa was counting too.

"We were more cautious on the way there. I didn't know if I could trust Jaha," Lexa says. She looks down. "And I wanted to be home."

Clarke can't help her smile. She puts down her meal and scoots closer to Lexa, letting their knees bump. "Nothing wrong with that."

When Lexa looks up she smiles at Clarke too, that crooked little smile she only uses when she likes something that Clarke has done or said.

Clarke can't resist the pull between them any longer, the consuming desire to be close to Lexa. She lets herself lean forward into Lexa's space, slow and steady, heart picking up a heavy thump as she hopes Lexa will stay.

Lexa leans forward too, and then their lips meet softly, a kiss of greeting, almost of reacquaintance. Clarke presses closer, letting herself remember the softness of Lexa's mouth until she needs more and lets her tongue just barely lick against Lexa's plump bottom lip.

Lexa opens her mouth, exhaling a needy sound through her nose, and Clarke rises to her knees so she can crawl forward until she's sitting in Lexa's lap with her legs dangling off the edge of the couch, feeling Lexa's arms automatically closing around her waist. Her arms drape over Lexa’s shoulders. She tilts her head just a bit to catch Lexa’s mouth at a better angle and finds they fit together perfectly, as perfectly as she remembered. 

They go slow, unhurried, enjoying the taste and feel of each other. Clarke focuses on everything: Lexa’s tongue sliding wetly against hers, her slim shoulders pressing up into Clarke’s forearms, her thighs pressed against Clarke’s bottom, her fragrant hair thick and soft in Clarke’s hands. 

It feels like an hour, or perhaps only a few minutes that they kiss in the quiet of Lexa’s room, until someone knocks and Clarke pulls back, flustered and breathing hard. Lexa is wild-eyed, lips swollen and wet, and her fingers grip once at Clarke's waist before letting go. Clarke slides to the side, back onto the couch, while Lexa stands up and pulls her clothes straight. 

"Enter," Lexa says as quickly as she can, but surely they've taken long enough that whoever is on the other side of the door must realize they've interrupted something.

Another handmaiden pokes her head in, eyes downcast. "Heda, the Nightbloods request that you join them as soon as you are able." 

"I'll be there soon," Lexa says, and the handmaiden dips her head and withdraws. 

Lexa waits for the door to shut completely, then turns to Clarke, her hands folded behind her back. Something of what they've just done lingers in the way her hair is still slightly askew, the way her eyes stray to Clarke's mouth. And her smile, ruefully good-natured, as she prepares to take her leave.

"I'll see you for dinner?" Lexa asks, her voice neutral but the tilt of her head betraying how hopeful she is. 

Clarke stands up too and gives Lexa a sweet kiss at the corner of her mouth. "I wouldn't miss it."

*

Lexa takes herself off to see the Nightbloods and Clarke, temporarily reassured now that Lexa has shown her she's fine - more than fine, the way Clarke's entire body is still low key humming - decides to try again with Raven. 

She knocks, knocks once more, and finally a groggy voice moans something that sounds vaguely affirmative, so Clarke slowly pushes the door open and finds Raven just barely awake. She slips in all the way, holding the door so it closes noiselessly behind her, and then walks as quietly as possible to the bed. 

"What," Raven grumbles, eyes still closed. 

"Just wanted to check in on you," Clarke says. "You've been sleeping for a while."

"Mm." Raven doesn't seem inclined to say anything else. Clarke watches her breath for a little bit, doing her best to pick out details even though she's still mostly under the covers.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"Mmmm."

Clarke can't help but smile. "Okay. You want me to have them leave some food for when you wake up."

This time Raven's grunt is more affirmative.

"Okay." Clarke wants to pat the lump that represents Raven's foot, but resists in deference to Raven's clear desire for rest and solitude. But she does murmur, "I'm glad you're back," and catches the tiniest twitch of Raven's mouth before she leaves.

It's a particularly fine summer day and Clarke finally allows herself to feel as it as she steps out of Raven's room. They all came back, and nothing bad came back with them. She nearly skips back to her room, energized and able to focus on her work for the next little while.

*

Clarke is surprised to find Lexa's room empty at dinner. The guard at the door tells her that heda is in the dining room off the throne room, which means they won't be eating alone. Surprise is followed by mild disappointment, but also the realization that Lexa has been gone for weeks and undoubtedly has a huge backlog of work. 

As Clarke approaches, she can hear voices already, and finds Lexa at the head at the table and Raven at her left hand, heads bent towards each other, discussing something with the comfort of two people who know each other - perhaps not quite friends, but better than acquaintances. Clarke can piece together how hard and scary their journey must have been. They've been through something that other people can't touch, maybe can't understand. She doesn't expect the flare of jealousy in her stomach.

Lexa looks up as soon as she enters, smiling easily, and Clarke immediately feels bad for being anything other than relieved and gratified to see Lexa and Raven getting along. The table is still clear and as she takes her seat she looks around. "Is it just us?"

"Your mother will be here soon," Lexa says.

Raven grimaces and looks at the tabletop, scratching it lightly with her fingernail. Lexa throws her a look, one that Clarke can't decipher, and once again she feels something peculiar inside that the two of them have history now that doesn't include her. 

Abby arrives a few minutes later, stopping to squeeze Clarke's shoulder and drop a kiss on the top of her head, nodding politely to Lexa, and then sitting next to Raven.

"I'm fine," Raven says immediately.

Abby bites back her words, though Clarke can tell she's just saving them for later.

The servants bring food and they talk and eat and it's pleasant and mostly easy. Clarke has to pause mid-bite when it hits her that they're really here, Raven and her mom and Lexa, just sitting around a table talking about their day. No emergencies. No war plans. Just Raven shrugging off Abby's light nagging about her leg and Lexa watching them from behind the rim of her cup, occasionally cutting her eyes towards Clarke in private shared amusement. All these little moments keep happening and she feels bad that every time it feels new and strange, but something inside her won't let her relax and accept that this is her routine now. It's too soon for that.

Afterwards Raven waves off Abby again and mutters something about going to her lab, which Clarke takes to mean the old space they used to experiment on the backpack and the bridging device. But instead Lexa gives Raven directions to a place a few floors down, and Raven nods her thanks. 

"She required a place to work," Lexa says. "The old location was too isolated."

Clarke doesn't push the issue, instead trying not to feel awkward now that it's her and Lexa and her mother, with no Raven as a buffer.

"You should let me examine you too," Abby says to Lexa.

"I am fine, Abby Griffin," Lexa says politely. "Your concern is appreciated but unnecessary."

Abby just makes a noise in her throat at that, the little hum that says she disagrees but accepts that she won't be doctoring anyone for now. "Well I'll see you tomorrow then," she tells Clarke. 

"Where are you going?" Clarke asks her confusion only half-feigned.

"Some of the healers invited me to have a drink tonight," Abby says. She grins at Clarke. "Don't wait up."

Clarke's mouth drops slightly as her mom goes, but she's smiling. "Unbelievable."

"It's good she's making friends here," Lexa says. She looks pleased, both by Abby and by Clarke's good mood. "The people here are beginning to trust her. And through her, your people."

"That's good," Clarke agrees. She looks at Lexa over the tabletop for a moment and Lexa looks back and Clarke knows they're both thinking of earlier that afternoon. "Do you want to..." Her voice trails off with all the unsubtle implication she can manage.

"Let's talk in my room," Lexa says, standing up. 

Clarke joins her, wanting badly to take Lexa's hand and be pulled down the halls, but she maintains her distance even though she's pretty sure the guards at Lexa's door aren't fooled one bit. As soon as the door swings closed, Clarke is advancing on Lexa, who stands steady but with a gleam in her eye. Her hands come up to Clarke's waist as she steps into Lexa's body space. "Clarke," she says in a hushed voice that makes Clarke want to melt against her.

Clarke leans their foreheads together, eyes closed. "You're really okay," she says.

"I'm okay," Lexa agrees. 

Clarke sighs, relief and happiness and the release of weeks of tension and acceptance that things turned out for the best for once. She presses forward, tipping her chin up to bring her mouth softly against Lexa's. Simple at first, but soon warmer, and wetter, and Clarke is urging Lexa backwards towards the bed.

"Can I stay here tonight?" Clarke asks as Lexa bumps against the mattress.

Lexa kisses a path along Clarke's jaw, down her neck. Clarke arches against her, waiting for the answer, and when Lexa murmurs "Yes" directly against her ear, tumbles her onto the bed. 

Lexa stares up at her, eyes wide, skin painting warm by flickering candlelight. Some servant has already been and gone, as unobtrusive as ever, and the whole room smells fragrant with unseen flowers and the mild breeze flowing through the window. 

All Clarke's senses feel sharp, attuned to the woman beneath her, the softness of the bed and the body pressing up against her. "We're okay," she says.

Lexa cups her cheek, and it's as good as saying the words. Clarke lets herself sink down into Lexa and kisses her with Lexa's hands tangling in her hair and wrapping around her back, pulling her as close as possible. Her fingers scrunch the fabric of Clarke's shirt, pulling it taut, and Clarke pulls back just enough to whip it over her had and toss it on the floor. 

She hasn't forotten how good it feels to press so warmly against Lexa's lithe body, but the reality of it is so much clearer and sharper, as though nothing else will ever compare. 

Lexa kisses up into her as much as Clarke is bearing down. They're growing desperate for each other, mouths slick, breaths coming heavy. Clarke's hands slip under the hem of Lexa's shirt, massaging up her smooth stomach. She can feel Lexa's hips starting to arch into her and responds in kind. A thrill runs through her body at the contact between them, the warmth building between her legs and buzzing at the base of her spine. 

Lexa pushes off the mattress, leaving Clarke seated in her lap, still pushed tight against her with her hands sliding around to Lexa's back, rucking her shirt up under her breasts. Lexa pulls back the barest amount and Clarke pulls the shirt straight up, sending Lexa's hair cascading down over her back and shoulders as it comes free. The shirt is dropped to the floor and Clarke pulled firmly against Lexa again as they kiss. She can feel Lexa breathing against her, the rhythmic swell of her breasts against Clarke's. Her hands slide into Lexa's hair again.

There are things she wants to say, words built up in her chest and waiting on her tongue, but not now. Now she tilts her head and kisses Lexa like she's dreamed of kissing her, in dreary daytime meetings and quiet nights alone in her bed. She kisses her like they have all the time in the world and no one to judge them for it. They deserve this, the two of them, after all that they've endured.

She loosens the button of Lexa's pants and hooks her fingers in at the waist, pulling them down. Lexa wriggles a little, trying to help pull her legs free. Clarke has to yank at one boot and then the other, smiling the whole time, nearly laughing as Lexa rolls her over and does the same for her boots. They go in a heap on the floor, followed by Lexa's pants and then Clarke's. They're hurrying but not fumbling, pulling at bindings and slipping off underwear, taking the time to touch and be touched. Clarke has to close her eyes at the sensation of Lexa lying flush against her, warm skin touching from the thighs, up to hips and stomach and breasts, and her mouth descending to kiss Clarke again. Their legs slide together and Clarke inhales at the feeling of Lexa rubbing against her. She clutches at the small of Lexa's back, trying to increase the pressure. She wants this moment to last but she's also missed Lexa so much and they have all night. 

Lexa pulls back, her eyes searching Clarke's face even as her hips continue their soft rolling motion. Clarke nods at her, moving with her. "Lexa," she says.

"Clarke." She buries her mouth against the soft skin of Clarke's neck, teeth grazing lightly, followed by her tongue and her lips. She thinks she can feel Lexa's mouth moving against her, forming words, but it's lost to the way she's chasing release. When her thrusting against Lexa's thigh starts to grow frantic she feels Lexa's hand snake down her stomach, massaging for a moment at her hipbone and the crease of her thigh before slipping between her legs. 

"Yes," Clarke pants, and she can feel how Lexa bucks at her hot breath in Lexa's ear. There are fingers stroking her, then slowly pushing inside her. Her mouth is open in a long gasp, desperately drawing in air, legs opening wider for Lexa. She doesn't try to prolong it and neither does Lexa, who seems to feel the same need to reconnect as quickly as possible, and then Clarke is clenching and coming hard with her back arching off the bed. Lexa is tender and attentive on the come-down, fingers still inside Clarke as she kisses her temple, down her throat, to her shoulder. Her body half on top of Clarke's feels so good that she never wants to leave this moment. But they have all night, and that's a good start.


	25. Chapter 25

Clarke can feel someone slowly stroke along her hip, down to her thigh, before her eyes are open. She's content to doze that way, the soft soothing stroke up and down her skin, warm body pressed against her back. 

At some point Lexa must realize she's awake, because her hand stops and Clarke feels a slight distance between them. She rolls onto her back, head turning on her pillow to look at Lexa. Her face is still cast in shadow from the curtains across the windows, a thin stripe of golden light cutting across both their bodies.

Lexa is staring solemnly at her, almost expectantly. Clarke remembers the last time they did this and pushes herself closer to Lexa, bridging the small distance between them until their legs twine together and their faces are so close that Clarke has to close her eyes lest her vision go blurry. "Hi," she says, her voice barely filling the space between their mouths. 

She feels Lexa's hand return to her hip. "Hi," Lexa says. The moment feels tiny and intimate, something meant just for the two of them. They'll never speak of this morning to anyone else, perhaps not even to each other, except to every now and again share a glance and a smile and remember how they were the only people in the world for a short while.

"What time is it?"

"Still early," Lexa murmurs. She squeezes her hand once, the barest pressure. "Sleep more, if you want."

"Mmm," Clarke says, liking the sound of that. "You should sleep more too."

She waits, hoping, needing this moment to go right where the last one went wrong so many weeks ago. 

"All right," Lexa says. She shifts, turning around, and Clarke snuggles up against her back with her nose being tickled every other breath by Lexa's hair. One hand dangles loosely against Lexa's stomach, feeling the reassuring rise and fall of it. But as soothing as it is Clarke won't let herself sleep. It's too new to let herself relax again and she closes her eyes but doesn't fully drift off, instead focusing on Lexa's body and the niceness, the _rightness_ of how she feels pulled close. 

Lexa stirs again after about half an hour, pulling free from Clarke as she stretches from head to toe. She turns over again and they watch each other for several pleasant minutes, eyes half-lidded with the remnants of sleep and hands idly touching in little movements while they share private smiles. They're past their initial shyness but still half-amazed at where they are and who they're with. 

"Are you hungry?" Lexa asks. "I'll have breakfast brought."

"Is it..." Clarke hesitates, knowing the servants probably already know she's spent at least one night with Lexa. "Is it okay if the servants see us together?"

Lexa's smile dims just a little, as though she doesn't want to think about that now. "Lani is very discreet."

"I just don't want to cause problems for you." Clarke drifts her foot down Lexa's calf under the covers, trying to keep the moment as easy as possible even though she can feel it slipping away, subsumed by the reality of their positions. "At some point we probably need to talk about what this means for me being the Skaikru ambassador too."

Lexa's smile fades entirely in resignation. "Yes," she says.

Clarke regrets not just living in the moment again, not letting her mind step away from her responsibilities. They deserve that, if only for one morning. She touches Lexa's chin with her fingertips, slides them to the side of her neck. "But not now," she says.

The smile returns, slow but bright. "Not now," Lexa agrees.

*

The next few days drift by in a haze. Clarke only has eyes for Lexa, with brief breaks for Raven and her mother and sometimes Octavia, who seems similarly wrapped up in Lincoln. If she catches her mother giving her a knowing look at dinner, then she ignores it and inquires brightly about her work with the healers. She still has her duties, but every spare thought, every spare moment is given over to indulging in something that once seemed a distant, idiotic fantasy.

Lexa is attentive, almost solicitous. Clarke knows this soft, indulgent period of their lives can't last, but she wants it for as long as she can have it. But then Lexa is somewhat listless at dinner, just three days after returning home and sifting through all the business that couldn't be handled by Titus or the council of ambassadors. 

"Tired," Lexa says in response to Clarke's inquiring look, fork poking at her plate of potatoes and roast venison. 

She's been waking at dawn and going nonstop until well after dark, Clarke knows, and she touches Lexa's foot under the table with her own foot. "Why don't you go to bed early."

Lexa makes an agreeable sound. The rest of her dinner goes untouched as she stands up and waits for Clarke. She seems a little distant as they prepare for bed, the first time they haven't undressed each other and fallen onto the mattress in a rush of clutching hands and kisses. 

Clarke isn't tired enough to sleep yet, but she slips under the cool cotton sheet with Lexa anyway, trying to watch her without seeming like she's staring. The honeymoon had to end some time, and they've been so caught up in each other for days that it still feels like Lexa just got back. 

Lexa closes her eyes the moment her head hits the pillow. She's truly asleep in a matter of minutes, from the deep and regular rhythm of her chest. Clarke doesn't blow out the candle on her side of the bed, instead letting it flicker down to the end of the wick.

*

Lexa seems better in the morning, a smile and a kiss to Clarke's temple greeting her as she wakes up. They both have things to do, meetings to prepare for, people they answer to. Reluctantly Clarke slips from Lexa's room instead of eating breakfast with her. They tend to get distracted in the mornings, still insulated by silence and the remnants of spending all night next to each other. 

Clarke grabs some toast and fruit in her room after a quick bath from the washbasin and mentally reviews topics for that morning's meeting with the ambassadors. It's already warm, even this high up in the tower, and she picks a loose shirt and simple brown pants, the leather supple enough not to feel stifling. She's only recently stopped feeling like she has to be as stiff and buttoned up as possible at these meetings, armoring herself in layers of cloth and leather. Now it's enough that she feels clean and presentable, and there's a slight swing in her step as she walks to the throne room.

She notices a few conversations dropping in volume as she enters, a few looks from ambassadors who still aren't quite friendly with her. Her heart stutters faintly, wondering how much they know about her and Lexa. The two of them are always professional in front of others, or so Clarke thought. The servants - Lexa trusts hers implicitly, but a single wrong word, a single look in the wrong direction could be enough. 

She takes her seat as normally as possible, like anyone else waiting for heda to arrive. 

The routine of it, at least, is faintly soothing. Not just in terms of worrying if the others know about her relationship with Lexa, but in and of itself. They have a routine. No emergencies, no last-minute planning, no weighing lives against lives. Her biggest concern right now is getting the farm survey group from Arkadia coordinated across all Grounder territory.

They hear sound echoing down the halls in their direction, the stamp of boots on concrete and the steady clank of armor and weapons. The others take their seats, and then rise again when Lexa enters. She keeps her eyes forward, shoulders broad, back straight, but Clarke can't help but search her for any signs of last night's malaise.

The meeting is straightforward - Lexa's exploits in destroying the outside threat has bought her some political capital - and she marches directly out again after less than an hour of discussion. Clarke doesn't see her again until dinner, when there's more of the same lackadaisical picking at her food, eating one bite for every three of Clarke's. 

"Do you feel okay?" Clarke asks, her instinct to rise and place her hand against Lexa's forehead. It's an instinct that would be received very poorly, she knows.

"I'm fine," Lexa says. Her smile is slightly reassuring and she makes more of an effort to eat. She's attentive to Clarke that night as well, hands running over her body, holding her tenderly. But she declines to let Clarke touch her in return, and falls asleep quickly. 

Clarke tries not to cling in her sleep. Perhaps they both need some breathing room after not being far from each other's eyesight for several days. But Lexa also sleeps past sunrise, and is groggy when she wakes, something Clarke has never seen. 

"Are you okay?" she asks again when they've both pulled on clothes and Clarke is ready to go back to her room and pretend she slept there. 

"I'm fine," Lexa says, and once again that effort to make Clarke believe the words, but it's halfhearted at best. 

Clarke tries to keep an eye on Lexa during the day, joining the Nightbloods for what is now a regular lesson with them. Lexa at least looks pleased to see her sitting in, curled up on the steps in front of the throne in the middle of the pack and waiting expectantly for Lexa to begin. She can tell Lexa is making an effort with the Nightbloods too, but the very fact of her needing effort is worrying. The responsibility of teaching these children has always seemed the one thing that never really weighs on Lexa; she clearly treasures the time she gets to spend with them, even if they represent the weight of her legacy.

The Nightbloods just seem happy to have her back, and Clarke can tell they're good for Lexa by the way her shoulders relax as she takes a moment to speak to each of them. But dinner is the same, and then Lexa only seems to have the energy for a few slow kisses before she's drooping again. 

Clarke lets her sleep.

*

The next few days ebb and flow. Some days Lexa has more energy, and some days she sleeps past what Clarke would consider her normal start time, followed by a day spent trudging through the motions. 

It's strange, this feeling - it's not the same as when she was afraid Lexa would lose to Roan, or the constant low hum of fear while Lexa was gone dealing with Alie. It's an unease that sits wrong with her, a sense that she should be able to figure out what is happening but can't.

And then one day Titus enters her room without knocking, his face more grave than usual, though it's hard to tell with him. 

"Whatever you are doing with heda, it must stop," he says, not even waiting for the door to close to make his accusation.

Clarke stands up sharply from her desk, her indignation at this brazen intrusion almost making her want to physically push him out of her room. "That's none of your business," she snaps. It's midday and Lexa is taking a rare nap; she can't seem to sleep enough no matter how much she rests, lately. 

"It is my business to keep heda healthy and able to serve her people," Titus says. "She only began behaving this way after she returned. After she began her dalliance with you."

Clarke wants to know how he knows, if he's watching them or if a servant told. She probably should find that out first, but her anger is running bright and hot now. "Whatever Lexa and I choose to do or not do has nothing to do with you. And for your information we haven't done anything that would be exhausting her like this."

Titus pauses. "You see it too."

Clarke nearly throws her hands in the air, wanting to claw her fingers at Titus in a choking motion. She keeps them by her side and lets them clench into fists. "Of course I see it. Whatever you believe about me Titus, you at least have to believe I want what's best for her."

His jaw works, eyes not quite meeting hers. "Yes," he says at last. 

"We're both concerned," says Clarke. It's hard, with her anger at Titus still a hot coal in her stomach, but she adds soothing tones to her voice to push him in a conciliatory direction. "If we work together maybe we can figure out what's wrong. Have you had the healer check her?"

"Heda will not permit it," Titus says gruffly. 

Clarke could punch Lexa for her stubbornness. "That's our first step. You back off and let me see what I can do. Okay?"

He lingers, perhaps not wanting to let go so quickly after storming in with all his self-righteousness. 

"Titus." Clarke's voice is steel. "It's in my people's best interest too, to make sure she's not missing anything."

He jerks his head in a little nod. "Try then, wanheda."

The sheer number of retorts about succeeding, not trying, pile up on Clarke's tongue. She swallows them down with the ease of months of practice and motions for Titus to leave. "Titus," she says as his hand touches the door. "If you barge in here again without asking, I won't need Lexa's permission. You can respect me, or you can make me your enemy. I might not win, but for damn sure you'll lose."

He looks over his shoulder. "That, wanheda, I do believe."

It takes Clarke a long, long moment after he leaves to unclench her fists.

*

How did Lexa convince her to see a therapist in the City of Light? Clarke nearly shudders to herself even thinking of those memories, much less reaching back to them for help. But eventually it did get so bad for her that she was willing to see a doctor. She doesn't want Lexa to have to wait that long, until she's nothing but a vague human shape lumbering through her days on autopilot, reliant on others to help her fill in the gaps.

Clarke sits by her window in her room and wills herself to be calm as she remembers what she's deliberately blocked away since she woke up that first time. 

It was bad, but it wasn't peaking at its worst. But she remembers seeing the bags under the other Lexa's eyes, her tired smiles, how she tried to hide her worries. She might have been made for Clarke, but she was still supposed to feel as real as possible, and that meant realistically getting tired if her sleep was constantly interrupted. Clarke has figured that much, in the limited time she's let herself think about it at all. Her mind probably would have rejected the scenario much sooner if Lexa was completely unaffected. 

But it's not like seeing a therapist was particularly helpful for her either. She hadn't been ready to confront the truth then. She doesn't know how much of that was Alie and how much was her. 

She takes a moment to watch Polis, settling in for the night as the sun sets. Already the city is cast in long shadows as the sun is nearly below the tree line, and she can see little dots of movement throwing long stripes of black behind them as they move around, packing up the market, meeting up with friends and loved ones they missed during the day. Sometimes watching the city makes her feel connected to the earth and its people; tonight it makes her feel lonely, isolated.

Dinner should almost be ready. Clarke contains a sigh and moves away from the view, ready to head to Lexa's room. It's just them tonight; Raven and Abby have headed back to Arkadia, ostensibly to check in and resupply, but Clarke knows Abby has been fretting over Raven's leg despite reassurances and multiple physical exams. Raven can handle it for now and Clarke trusts she'll tell off Abby if the doctoring turns the corner into nosiness.

She knocks before she enters; it's a pretense at this point, but at the same time it feels like a little bit more than that tonight, with Lexa so distant - Clarke pauses as she slips into Lexa's room and sees her on her couch, napping again. She's not really distant. She still pays attention, still tries to be receptive to Clarke's needs. She isn't actively pushing Clarke away. She just doesn't seem like she has the energy she once did. The crispness has gone out of her posture and her step.

Clarke settles gingerly on the sofa, trying not to wake Lexa too suddenly. She places a hand on Lexa's calf; she has her legs drawn up so that she's tucked into a loose ball in the corner. A few massaging squeezes later and Lexa rouses herself, blinking a few times before she rolls her head to spot Clarke. 

She smiles, that little sleepy smile that Clarke thinks could break her heart. 

"You hungry?" Clarke asks, hand drifting down to Lexa's ankle, where she keeps a loose hold. 

Lexa yawns. "Have the servants brought dinner yet?" 

"Not yet. Should I ask?" 

Lexa nods, eyes fluttering a little as she fights off the last of her nap. 

"Go ahead and sleep a little more," Clarke says. "I'll wake you up when dinner is here." She waits until Lexa has drifted off again before going to the door and asking for food. It'll be a few minutes; there are kitchens a few levels below for heda and the various dignitaries who reside at the top of the tower. 

Clarke spends them watching Lexa, searching her face for something she can't quite put her finger on. 

A servant knocks in due time and Clarke lets her in. She glances at Lexa as she noiselessly sets down her heavy tray, but perhaps is more used to the sight than Clarke, leaving as wordlessly as she came. 

Clarke waits a few minutes more, just watching Lexa, who didn't stir at all while the servant came and went. She knows Lexa feels most secure in this room, that she's used to the movement of servants in her space, but she didn't so much as twitch. This is a deep exhaustion that has Clarke grasping for any solid purchase for her heart as it comes unmoored from worry. 

Another squeeze to Lexa's calf rouses her. She pushes herself up, rubbing at one eye, then the other, finger-combing her hair into place. Clarke hands her a plate loaded with rabbit covered in some kind of rich gravy, with colorful steamed squash on the side. 

As Lexa once again noncomittally picks through her food, Clarke can't stand it anymore. Pretending has done them both no good. "Lexa," she says. 

Lexa looks up at her expectantly. 

Clarke sets aside her plate. "I think you need to see a healer."

She gets a slow blink at that. "I'm fine, Clarke." The reply is automatic, and it almost even really sounds like Lexa. But Clarke has seen too much, been through too much, to let it go.

"You're not fine. Something is wrong. You're tired. You're not eating. You..." She gathers the words, not wanting it to sound like an accusation. Wanting Lexa to see how much she cares. "I'm worried about you."

Another slow blink, as though Lexa isn't processing the words at normal speed. She puts her plate down too. "I'm fine," she says again. 

Clarke reaches out to touch, to reassure. Her hands stop as Lexa pulls her leg back - just an inch, almost a reflex, but enough that Clarke feels something drop in her chest. "Please. Lexa. See a healer. Talk to someone. It doesn't have to be me." She hesitates to share her next words, not wanting it to seem like she's ganging up on Lexa. But even now Lexa is stubborn. "Titus is worried too," Clarke says.

Lexa's eyes lose a little of their dull quality and sharpen their focus on Clarke. "You've spoken to Titus about this?"

"He came to me. We both care about you."

Clarke waits, and then when Lexa doesn't seem to have anything else to say, dares to let her hands creep forward again. This time they land on the warmth of Lexa's leg, still drawn up on the cushions. Still Clarke waits, hoping that Lexa can feel the same connection Clarke feels when they touch, that she feels as solid and real and present and safe. 

"Maybe it's just a bug," Clarke says, even though she knows it's no such thing. "But it can't hurt to make sure."

Lexa looks down at Clarke's hand with that slow contemplation. And then she draws in a deep breath and Clarke can tell she's pulling in strength from somewhere, whatever it is she does that makes it seem like she's suddenly the tallest person in the room. It's so like the old Lexa that Clarke almost believes for a moment that she's snapped Lexa out of it. But one look at the way her mouth droops, the slight hollow in cheeks that didn't have weight to lose, and Clarke knows. 

"Okay," Lexa says. She finally reaches out too, her fingers slipping over Clarke's hand and resting there. 

"Okay?" Clarke repeats. She lifts her hand so she can lace their fingers. "Thank you."

"I'm..." Lexa keeps her eyes on their joined hands, sounding like every word is a struggle. "I'm not..."

"It's okay," Clarke says. She crawls forward, laying herself against Lexa's side and resting her head on Lexa's shoulder, arm curling around her waist. "We'll figure it out together."

*

To Clarke's everlasting surprise, Lexa asks for Abby instead of a Grounder healer. Perhaps it's easier to confide in a relative stranger; perhaps Lexa doesn't want to risk a single word of this getting out to her people. Whatever the reason, Clarke is fine with the decision, and hops on the radio first thing in the morning to make sure her mom is available to depart Arkadia ahead of schedule.

She's walking into Clarke's room just a few hours later with a medical kit slung over her shoulder and a vaguely disgruntled expression on her face.

"Don't learn to drive from Raven," she says to Clarke, who smiles into a hug. 

"I'm so glad you're here," Clarke says. 

"She really requested me?" Abby sounds too flustered to be pleased by the notion.

"Really," Clarke says, keeping her opinions on Lexa's reasoning to herself. She also doesn't mention how strange it feels to think of her mother and Lexa together and not circling each other suspiciously. 

"How is she?"

Clarke considers what she should and shouldn't divulge. "She's not sleeping well. Reduced appetite. She seems kind of...detached?" 

Abby tilts her head slightly, already in doctor mode as she considers the symptoms. 

"She's expecting you," Clarke says. As badly as she wants to sit in, it's not her place. She watches her mother go, giving her an encouraging smile, and then paces intermittently in her room for the next hour. She has her suspicions and now that they're so close to a potential diagnosis she just wants to move on to treatment. 

A servant eventually knocks, summoning her to heda's room. Clarke hurries down the hallway, up one flight of stairs, right to Lexa's door. She knocks and barely waits for the call to enter, pushing in and searching out Lexa with her eyes right away.

She's seated on her couch with a blank face; Abby is in the chair nearby, looking concerned. 

"How'd it go?" Clarke asks, trying to affect a brisk tone, to not let on how she just spent the last hour turning over every possible scenario in her head.

Lexa purses her lips, turning her head away, so it's Abby who speaks first.

"Normally I wouldn't disclose our conversation," she begins, and Lexa's jaw clenches ever so slightly. "But Lexa has given me permission so that you two can discuss it."

Clarke waits, caught in that moment between the fears of knowing and not knowing. 

"I've diagnosed moderate depression," Abby says. "I think it's related to the loss of the...flame." She falters on that, and Clarke knows she wants to refer to it as an implant, and they can both see Lexa's jaw work again at the pause. 

"Depression," Clarke repeats. Her brain is already digging up every dusty lesson from her intro to psychology unit. "That's...that's very treatable, Lexa."

"Thank you, Abby Griffin," Lexa says stiffly. 

Abby understands it as the dismissal it is, but doesn't bristle or retort. Her eyes are soft and her voice softer. "I'll be in my room if you want to talk more about the treatment options we discussed. Clarke is right, commander. This is something many people deal with on a regular basis, and it's very treatable." She rises and leaves, but not before grasping Clarke's arm and giving her brief, compassionate look. 

Clarke waits until they're alone to sit on the couch with Lexa. "Do you have any questions?" She keeps her voice on the brisk side, avoiding anything Lexa might misinterpret as pity.

"Your mother explained about the...hormone imbalance she suspects." The medical term is slightly awkward in Lexa's mouth. "Something very strange happened to me. The flame changed my brain while it was inside me, and now it's gone. It makes sense."

Lexa's words are logical, but she sounds - not sad. To Clarke's ear it's worse than that; she sounds almost broken by the idea. Like she used up all her fight on beating Alie and just doesn't have anything left in reserve.

"Lexa, you know you're not - you were never just the flame. Titus explained it. It can't make you something you're not. Maybe it helped bring out some of the best in you, but whoever you are, that's all you." Clarke pushes closer, testing the space between them, giving Lexa room to slip away if she needs to.

Lexa remains silent.

"It's like the wound on the back of your neck. Your brain has been hurt and it needs treatment by a healer to get better. You've lived without the flame before, and you can do it again."

Still silence, but she hasn't left the couch, and Clarke can see her lower lip moving, the rhythm of her breathing changing. 

"I'll help you, if you want. If you just want to talk to my mom about this, that's fine too. Whatever you need. I'm here for you." Clarke finally touches Lexa's hand where it rests on her thigh. Lexa always seems to know what she means by her touches, and she opens up to this one, letting Clarke pull her close. Clarke's arm is snug around her shoulder when she pulls in a shuddering breath, and when Clarke looks down at the head resting on her shoulder, she can see the glisten of tear tracks down Lexa's cheeks. She makes no other sound, doesn't sob or whimper, and no other tears are forthcoming. Still, Clarke can feel how she's breaking apart and how she holds herself together in the circle of Clarke's embrace.

"I told you, together," Clarke says, and buries a kiss in Lexa's hair.


	26. Chapter 26

The medical texts from the Ark describe antidepressants, but they've never had them, never had the capability to manufacture them. Therapy on the Ark was mostly talk therapy, with a small subset of the medical staff also specializing in psychology and rotating between shifts. 

"I was never very good at it," Abby frets to Clarke, sequestered in Clarke's room as she prepares to meet with Lexa. It's strange and kind of violative to Clarke that they're talking about Lexa while she isn't in the room, but she asked Clarke for her help in sorting things out, placing a level of complete trust in her that she doesn't know if she truly wants, not like this.

"Well Lexa's not good at talking about herself, so you're even," Clarke jokes, not really feeling it. 

Her mom seems to get it anyway, patting Clarke's hand reassuringly. "We'll figure it out."

Abby is the closest thing they have to a psychologist among the much-reduced Ark medical staff. The Grounders do have some techniques for those who are _reindaun_ ; even in a society where war is commonplace, human beings have their limits, and the healers have worked out their own ways of dealing with it, patched together from experience and the tattered remnants of whatever medical knowledge survived the apocalypse. Of course there's a tea they use - Abby already has samples boxed up for analysis back at Arkadia - but other than that they're mostly in uncharted waters. No commander has ever had the flame removed while they were alive.

*

Clarke waits tensely while Lexa and Abby have their first session. She's worried for both of them; Lexa for being asked to do something that violates all her deeply-ingrained notions of personal privacy, and Abby for having to navigate the line between treating her patient and respecting the Commander of the Thirteen Clans. She half expects one or both of them to come barging out of Abby's room, adamant that the session is over. But they go for the full allotted hour, and afterwards Lexa emerges looking slightly drawn but with a calm face. 

"Your mother would like to speak to you," she says. As Clarke brushes past her to go into the room, Lexa's hand lands lightly on her wrist. "And afterwards..."

"I'll come see you?" Clarke suggests.

Lexa nods and moves away, and Clarke slips into the room. Abby is standing at the window, one hand on her forehead and the other at her hip. 

"How'd it go?"

A sigh. "I don't think I've met someone more closed off and prone to answering questions with questions."

Clarke winces. "That bad?"

Abby turns around, both hands on her hips now, thoughtful frown on her face. "I wouldn't say that. It'll take work, but I think we can get there." She pauses. "I think it would help if you encouraged her to participate in the process. She has to really be willing to do the work. I spent most of tonight just beginning to understand how to break down her walls, and if we have to do that at every session, we're not going to make progress."

"It's just your first one," Clarke says. "I don't think Lexa fully trusts you yet. There's not many people she trusts."

"She trusts you," Abby points out.

"We've...been through a lot," Clarke says, her tone darkening somewhat in spite of herself.

Abby just flicks her eyebrows. "I won't argue with that."

"I'll talk to her," Clarke promises. She crosses the room and hugs her mom. "Thank you for doing this."

She takes her time heading to Lexa's room, wanting to give her a little time and space to process what just happened. But when she finally knocks and Lexa's door and enters as quietly as possible, Lexa is standing at the window with her hands folded behind her back, unwittingly imitating Abby. Clarke joins her, and together they watch Polis slow down and shutter itself for the night. Clarke waits, letting Lexa dictate the pace.

"I am not used to ever being questioned as your mother did with me," Lexa says, unmoving, eyes fixed on her city. 

"It's how our treatment works. I know it feels...invasive. But I promise you it has a point," Clarke says. 

Lexa is still and silent, thinking it over. 

Clarke keeps the small distance between them, making it a companionable silence.

"Will it always be that...prying?"

"Maybe," Clarke says, honestly. "Treatment isn't always a straight line. Some days will be better than others."

"I was badly hurt once," Lexa says. Clarke tries to keep up with the apparent turn in the conversation. "It was a training accident. Another Nightblood was careless and landed on my leg during training. My thigh was broken. The healers weren't sure if I would recover. I was unable to walk for some time. The recovery was long, and extremely painful." She finally turns away from the view, slowly breaking out of her formal posture. "Some days were better than others," she says, eyes meeting Clarke's in understanding.

"If you want to talk about it with me, you can. But if you want to keep it between you and my mom, then you should do what's best for you. I support you, even if that means needing me to leave because you need some space, okay?" Clarke reaches out, gathering both of Lexa's hands and holding them loosely between their bodies.

Lexa's mouth opens and closes a few times, looking down at their hands, up at Clarke, and back at their hands. There's something inside of her she wants to get out and it's closer to the surface than ever before, with her still so emotionally raw. 

Clarke squeezes, and Lexa squeezes back. It's enough for now.

*

Clarke is not privy to any of the things that Abby hears in her sessions. Not from Abby, anyway. Sometimes Lexa lets slip a little of what they talked about, but mostly what she seems to need from Clarke is a sense of routine and normalcy. Clarke makes sure she wakes up at her old time and eats regular meals and tries to listen to her without pressuring her for more.

And for once, Titus is useful in his near-fanatical rigidity. He keeps Lexa on task and on schedule no matter what. The first time Lexa seemed disconnected in a meeting, Clarke tried to subtly cut her eyes at him, but he just as subtly shook his head. Where Clarke would have indulged her, Titus made her complete her business, and afterwards she seemed better for having accomplished something with her day even though it exhausted her.

"I feel like everything I do is wrong," Lexa confesses to her one night, lying in bed between Clarke's legs while Clarke sits up against the headboard. 

Clarke lightly strokes a hand down her forearm, going with the fine hairs there, and lets Lexa search for the rest of the words that she wants.

"Before...everything seemed clearer. I knew I was chosen, and the spirit of the first commander was guiding me. Now everything is in my hands alone. I'm..." She breathes in Clarke's embrace for a moment. "Afraid."

"You were never afraid before?" Clarke asks, her voice a low murmur, hands continuing in soothing paths along Lexa's skin, bared from the shoulders down by her nightgown.

Lexa is silent for so long that Clarke almost thinks she's fallen asleep, but then she says, "Yes, I was afraid. But I didn't second-guess myself so much. I was able to make a decision and then commit to it fully, right or wrong."

"You wouldn't tire yourself out with whys or what-ifs," Clarke says, remembering a conversation in a tent long ago, on a night much more fraught than this one. 

"Yes."

"We are who we are now, Lexa. There's no going back."

"I know." Lexa shifts a little. "I worry about you too."

"What about me?" Clarke asks, her tone encouraging Lexa to keep talking.

"What you see in me now that I'm not the same."

Clarke suddenly wants nothing more than to clutch tightly at Lexa, to pepper her with kisses and reassurances. She wants to argue about how dumb that is. She wants to be by herself for a little while to let the ache of this moment fade. But she just stays still. "I know you feel different, but to me you're still Lexa. Not heda. Just Lexa."

"You've stayed by my side," Lexa agrees. "I know this. But I can't make myself feel it, even though I want to, Clarke."

"Well that's okay," Clarke says, her voice nowhere near as heavy as her heart. "You're still working on that. I don't want you to think I'm doing this with an expectation of anything. I'm doing this because I care about you, and I want you to get better for your own sake."

Lexa doesn't have a response for that; Clarke can't see her face but she suspects Lexa is making the one she makes when she's uncomfortable with the personal level of affection being given to her.

Clarke lets her hands drift, playing idly with Lexa's fingers. "Do you still care about your people?"

"Yes."

"Would you still die for them?"

Lexa sighs, as though aware of exactly what Clarke is doing. "Yes, Clarke."

"Can you trust that both Titus and I would tell you if you weren't doing something in their best interests?"

Again that long pause. "Yes." Lexa pulls her fingers out of Clarke's grasp, but only so she can lightly poke at Clarke's thigh. "I'm unsure of this new alliance between you and Titus."

It's as close to good humor as Lexa has come in a while, and it makes Clarke happy entirely out of proportion with the actual joke. "Well we finally figured out the only thing more powerful than our hate for each other was our-" She catches herself right on the edge of saying it, the word nearly bursting out without a thought. "Our faith in you," she finishes clumsily.

Lexa seems to go very still in her arms before relaxing again. "If only you'd combined forces sooner, we could have avoided a lot of trouble."

Clarke pokes her back, and holds her until they both fall asleep.

*

As much as Clarke tries to maintain a professional distance from Lexa during the day, she senses a murmur beginning to follow them around the city. At first there were just a few sideways glances from a few ambassadors, those most reluctantly in the coalition. But Clarke can't ignore it anymore when Tara pulls her aside after a morning meeting and requests that they take a walk together through the market.

"I miss the waters of my homeland during the hot months," Tara says, leisurely making her way past the stalls, stopping now and then to pick up an item or make an inquiry of a vendor. "The cure for heat is to go out upon the water, where the wind is strong."

"That sounds nice," Clarke says, waiting impatiently for Tara to get to the point.

"It's easier for me to be at home as well," Tara says. She holds up a little trinket for Clarke to inspect, makes an offering gesture, then puts it down when Clarke politely shakes her head. "It's not as crowded as Polis. I am no ambassador there, simply Tara."

They start to leave the section of the market more given to crafts and drift towards the food stalls, where a riot of good smells hits Clarke and reminds her she hasn't had lunch yet. 

Tara buys two legs of pigeon, a snack for them to nibble on as they wander. Clarke figures she can wait at least as long as it takes to eat her food.

"There aren't so many prying eyes at home. I'm not watched all the time. People believe what I say lies on the surface, without wondering what hides in the depths," Tara says. She turns her head, watching Clarke with one quirked eyebrow. "We are allies, yes, but the coalition is still young. The natural state of an ambassador is suspicion."

"I've noticed," Clarke says with somewhat ill grace, and tries to cover it by taking another bite of pigeon.

"It's very difficult to simply be who you are, when your actions affect so many other people," Tara says. 

"I've noticed that too," Clarke says, though with less rancor. 

"Perhaps one day you might visit me among the Floukru." Tara's face turns merry, as though she hasn't just been giving Clarke vaguely dire words. "It's a good place to be oneself."

"Should I be suspicious of your offer?" Clarke asks, feeling her first real sense of comradeship with another ambassador since she first took up the position.

"You, never. As for heda...perhaps." Tara's eyes practically sparkle at Clarke, who hides her blush in her food and continues walking.

*

Dinner is just the two of them that night, sitting at a small table set up by Lexa's window to catch the evening air. Her appetite is better, and she recounts her day for Clarke between bites. Every once in a while her hand will absentmindedly drift up around her collar, sliding under her hair to scratch at the back of her neck, and Clarke will have to nudge Lexa with her toe. The exit wound where the flame left her body is healing nicely, but weeks on the scab itches Lexa something fierce.

She knows that Lexa has come straight from a session with Abby. Often they leave her tired and contemplative, but tonight she seems energized, either from whatever they uncovered in their conversation or perhaps from the good day's work. 

"I spoke to Tara today," Clarke says. "After the morning meeting."

Lexa doesn't seem that surprised; she might be working through some issues right now, but she still knows everything that goes on with her ambassadors. It's just good policy, where that bunch is concerned, and Clarke doesn't blame her for keeping closer tabs on them than ever before.

"We need to talk about replacing me as Skaikru ambassador," Clarke says.

Lexa sighs and puts down her fork. "Yes."

Clarke reaches out to grasp her hand, rubbing her thumb along Lexa's skin. "This doesn't mean I'm leaving Polis or anything though."

A frown. "I know."

Clarke almost sits back in her chair. "Oh?"

"When a woman is in your bed every night, what does that mean among your people?" Lexa asks. 

Clarke nearly chokes on nothing. 

Lexa watches her, chewing on a morsel of food, then pushing the water pitcher closer to her. 

"I just-" Clarke coughs again. "I thought-"

Lexa relents a little, her face softening. "You've made your intentions clear to me, Clarke. And I want you to know how much I appreciate it. You've given me something I..." She squeezes Clarke's hand instead of finishing her sentence, but Clarke understands what she means.

"Okay," Clarke says. "So I'll ask Chancellor Kane to draw up a list of replacements to be vetted."

"There is no need," Lexa says, a little of the old imperiousness of command returning to her tone. "I know who should be your next ambassador."

"Really," Clarke says.

"Of course," Lexa says. "It should be Raven Reyes."

*

Raven laughs so hard when Clarke brings the proposition to her that she almost falls off of her chair. She slumps forward onto her workbench, already littered with scavenged odds and ends from around Polis, and heaves in huge bursts of laughter that nearly border on sobs. When she picks her head up there are actual tears at the corners of her eyes, which she scrubs away with her sleeve.

“Raven-”

Raven bursts into a fresh bout of laughter, holding up a stalling finger at Clarke while she gets it under control.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Raven says breathlessly, and dabs at her eyes again.

Clarke huffs and folds her arms. 

Finally, the last chuckles die off, and Raven is able to look at Clarke with a straight face again. “Why can’t you be ambassador anymore?”

Clarke continues to level a stare at Raven until the penny drops. 

“Oh, you guys are...conflicting your interests,” Raven says.

Clarke can’t help a slight blush, despite her apprehension at Raven’s response. As much as Raven gets along with Lexa now, there are some things you don’t forget. 

“It’s that serious, huh?” Raven asks. There’s no trace of mirth left, just that keen-eyed gaze and the sense that she’ll know the truth from a lie. 

“I...yeah, I think so,” Clarke says. 

Raven turns thoughtful. “Lexa really thinks I should be the next ambassador?”

“Really,” Clarke says. “And I agree with her.”

“Who else have you asked?”

“You’re my first choice."

Raven taps her fingers on her work table in quick rhythm, going over the offer in her head. “Really?”

“You’re familiar with us and the Grounders. Lexa respects you. You already have some ties in Polis,” Clarke lists in rapid succession.

“And they need me at Arkadia. That place’ll fall apart without me,” Raven says just as quickly.

“It’s an easy trip,” Clarke argues. “You can split your time. You don’t always have to be here. And a lot of the ambassadors have temporary replacements sent so they can make long trips home.”

“Kane would never go for it.”

“He will. You’ve got my recommendation and Lexa’s. And my mom’s.” Clarke actually hasn’t mentioned it to Abby yet, but it couldn’t hurt to throw that one in there.

Raven is quiet a while longer, sifting through all the information. “I don’t belong here, Clarke,” she says slowly.

“Then why do you keep coming back?” Clarke points out. “You have your own lab here. People respect you here.”

“People respect me everywhere,” Raven says, a little of her old bravura. 

“Just think about it?” Clarke asks. “And have dinner with us tonight?”

Raven narrows her eyes. “With just you two, or will anyone else be there?”

“Why?”

“I’m not third-wheeling. I get that enough with Octavia and Lincoln.”

“Fine,” Clarke says, nearing exasperation. “I’ll invite my mom.”

Raven is all smiles again. “Good. Lexa always has the best food.”

*

Clarke immediately heads for the main healing house closest to the tower so she can convince her mother to endorse Raven as the new ambassador. 

The front room is filled with rows of beds, about a third of them with patients, being tended by two apprentices. One of them directs Clarke into the back to find Abby Kom Skaikru, and Clarke wanders through a set of thick, dark curtains into a series of smaller rooms connected by hallways. She can see a few patients lying on beds in rooms by themselves, a healer sitting at a table and carefully grinding something with a mortar and pestle, and then her mother in a larger room discussing something in a book with a large bearded man who reminds Clarke of Nyko.

“Hi honey,” Abby says, looking surprised but happy to see her. She stands up to hug Clarke; the healer inclines his head from where he sits. 

“Wanheda honors us with her presence,” he says.

"Clarke, this is Jono. He’s in charge of this healing house,” Abby says. She gestures to some dried curls of bark on the table. “We were just discussing remedies for inflammation."

“I just need to speak with you when you get a minute,” Clarke says, not wanting to interrupt. Her mother is happier, she’s noticed. She’s engaged with her work, less cautious around Grounders, enthusiastically bringing back all sorts of samples to Arkadia and willingly teaching any healer who wants to listen about her Sky medical training. Clarke knows that Abby has already helped re-integrate some of the last Reapers left over after the fall of Mount Weather, while the people in Arkadia now have a litany of small cures they never had access to in space, including treatments for headaches, coughs, menstrual cramps, and more.

“We can continue our conversation later,” says Jono. He gives Clarke another deferential nod before leaving the room. Clarke takes his seat, going over all the possible objections and responses she came up with on the walk over. It hasn’t escaped her that she’ll also have to tell her mother the reason why she can’t be an ambassador anymore.

“Are you okay?” Abby asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Clarke says. “I just had something I wanted to run by you.” Unknowingly she imitates Raven from earlier, one forearm resting on the table and her fingers tapping one after the other in her nervousness.

“What is it?” Abby looks apprehensive, which is fair. Going by percentages she’s not wrong to expect bad news.

“What do you think of Raven as the new Sky People ambassador in Polis?” Clarke asks, and mentally holds her breath waiting for the reaction.

Abby’s eyes go wide. “New ambassador? What about you?”

“I’m, uh.” Clarke watches her own hand fidgeting a bit on the table’s wooden surface. “I’m too close to Lexa now. It’s a conflict of interest.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in with Abby, and then she sits back in her chair. “Oh.”

“Mom I-“

“Are you happy with her?” Abby asks. Raven’s staring was nothing compared to the way Abby is focusing on Clarke now, so intent on her that Clarke almost can’t look her in the eye. But she does, because she wants her mom to know how serious she is. How serious they are.

“Yes. I’m happy,” Clarke says firmly.

Abby sighs, just a little sigh of resignation. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow.

“I know what it looks like when someone is young and...” Abby ‘s mouth twists in an rueful smile. “In love.”

“I don’t...I’m not sure if we’re there yet,” Clarke says, completely confused by her mother’s acceptance and desperate to change the topic until she can really brace herself for that conversation. She’d been prepared for an argument, not this calm understanding. “And anyway what about Raven?”

“I think Kane will want to make his own list of ambassadors, but I’m fine with her being at the top of that list,” Abby says. “She’s smart and she’ll be a good representative of our people.”

“Will you help me convince her tonight at dinner?” Clarke asks. “Lexa invited you to join us,” she adds, figuring she might as well grease the wheel a little.

“Of course, honey,” Abby says, and in spite of how weird and unexpected everything was, Clarke feels better for having talked to her mom about it. 

*

The four of them have eaten together plenty of times before. But this time Clarke is very keenly aware that her mother knows more about her life than Clarke had realized, while the three of them have to persuade Raven to take the new job, and Raven is alternating between studying Clarke and looking like she wants to have a private talk with Lexa.

And so Clarke nearly drops her fork when Raven asks, very casually, “If you’re moving in with Lexa, do I get your room Clarke?”

Clarke fully expects Lexa to reprimand Raven for the rudeness of being so forward, but she seems more amused than anything. They really did go through some kind of reckoning together, then; Clarke once again feels that kneejerk jealousy that Lexa is allowing Raven the kind of indulgence she previously has only shown to Clarke.

Abby looks expectantly at Clarke, for much different reasons. “Haven’t talked about it,” Clarke says, and buries her face in her cup while she takes a long, long drink of water.

“Your quarters are insufficient?” Lexa asks, coming to Clarke’s rescue.

Raven shrugs. “Clarke’s room is definitely bigger than mine.”

“You also have a private laboratory,” Lexa points out. 

Raven narrows her eyes. “If you give me a bigger lab, I’ll stop asking about new quarters.”

Lexa smiles noncommittally. “That presumes you have accepted your nomination as Skaikru ambassador.”

Raven makes some kind of grumpy sound. “Fine, I accept.”

“We should go back tomorrow and talk to Kane,” Abby says. 

“Works for me. I still have equipment in Arkadia I want to bring over.” Raven looks at Lexa, this time less grumpy and more making an inquiry. “Maybe get some people here started on the basics of our technology.”

“You may propose a formal training program to the other ambassadors after your confirmation,” Lexa says.

“Now I have to make a formal training program,” Raven mutters, but seems pleased nevertheless.

“Clarke,” Abby says, a little too brightly to be entirely simple. “Would you like to come with us? Just for a short visit. You’ll probably need to talk to Kane too.”

Clarke looks to her mother, then to Lexa. 

“Go see your people. It was your idea to nominate Raven,” Lexa says. 

“I guess I’m going with you guys,” Clarke says. She doesn’t really mind having the decision pushed on her, just this once. She’s overdue for a visit to Arkadia anyway, and now that things are settling down, leaving Polis doesn’t fill her with the same anxiety.

“We’ll leave in the morning. Meet down by the rover?” Abby says.

“Sure,” Clarke says. “If I’m not down, then just knock on my door.”

“Which door would that be?” Raven says, very innocently, and Clarke and Lexa both look away from each other at the same time while Abby suddenly becomes very intent on her own food.


	27. Chapter 27

"This itches," Raven complains, tugging once again at the nice clothes the handmaidens stuffed her into after a bath. (There are already rumors of a bath gone wrong and disgruntled handmaidens complaining to heda about this new Skaikru ambassador.) It's only a pale blue tunic over dark pants and boots, with a matching dark jacket that seems a little stiff and too warm for this weather, but it looks much finer than anything the Arkers brought down to the ground with them and Raven continues to squirm herself into wrinkles.

"You only have to wear it for like another half hour," Clarke hisses. "Do you remember what to say?"

"It’s not that long," Raven hisses back. Nearby, Octavia watches her smugly, having already expressed that not being offered the job was dodging a bullet. She leans back slightly, letting herself rest against Lincoln's tall, solid figure.

“I’m not really Skaikru anymore anyway,” Octavia had confessed to Clarke the day after Kane agreed on Raven's appointment. She had looked over her shoulder at Lincoln then; he was waiting patiently in line for their food, seemingly at his ease, chatting to the next person in line.

Marcus Kane is also nearby in the throne room, and he looks half like he wants to warn Raven to stand still and half like he wants to take back her confirmation. 

"This is a terrible impression for the other ambassadors," Clarke whispers, trying to get in one last word.

"They can kiss my ass," Raven whispers in return, then straightens up, smiling, as the guards announce heda’s approach.

The ambassadors rise and Lexa sweeps in, much like any other meeting of the council. But today’s only item is the formal induction of Raven as a council member and her introduction to the others, backed by the leader of her people. 

Lexa does most of the ceremony in English as a courtesy to Raven, who is still playing catch up on her Trigedasleng. She can fumble her way through marketplace haggling now, and can pick up the gist of most conversations, but she’ll need to reach fluency if she wants to really hang with the others. Octavia has been her main resource and teacher and is willing to stay closer to the tower “for Raven’s sake.” Clarke suspects Lincoln plays a fair part in the actual teaching, especially when Octavia gets itchy at being cooped up and sitting down for too long.

Kane is practically on his tiptoes the whole time, intensely interested in the proceedings, the careful language and ceremonial sayings in place to ensure that the person joining the council truly speaks for their people. Lexa had to promise him a transcript of everything, as well a meeting to discuss how she developed the concept and formally laid down the words of investiture. Clarke has a feeling she'll end up having to go into the full basics of Grounder civics before Kane will begin to be satisfied.

The ceremony’s ending is businesslike, almost abrupt, but there’ll be a small party among the Sky People to fête Raven that night. For now, everyone just needs to walk through the paces.

Raven is mostly smooth for most of it, remembering her vows of fealty to heda and the wellbeing of the Coalition. She only surreptitiously scratches underneath her shirt collar once that Clarke notices, and afterwards takes her seat in Clarke’s old chair like she’s been doing it for weeks.

Clarke feels something inside of her pop when she watches Raven take her place. She's been so fixated on getting to this point, coaxing her mom and Kane, coaching Raven, assuring the ambassadors, that she hasn't really thought about the afterwards. It's a heady feeling, an almost buzz of nerves and anticipation.

When Lexa looks at her from the throne, Clarke doesn't bother to hide her expression. She doesn't have to pretend they're just two colleagues. She beams as wide and bright as she feels excited for the future, and she doesn't care who sees it.

*

"That wasn't so bad," Raven admits that night. She's back in her old clothes and relaxing with a bottle of mead at what is becoming their usual haunt down in the marketplace. The mead is courtesy of Lexa, who made sure the ratio of drink to revelers was generously lopsided, though she herself declined to attend.

"Grounders like ceremonies, but they don't like to be kept waiting," Lincoln says. Octavia pours him another cup and he accepts it with a charming smile, as loose and comfortable as Clarke has ever seen him. 

Monty plops down at the table looking pleased with the giant clay bottle in his hands. "Refills," he says, no doubt glad he decided to come along for the ceremony instead of staying in Arkadia. There was a mild stir when it came out that Raven would be the new ambassador, a few older settlers objecting. But when Kane asked for anyone else who could speak Trigedasleng and who had Lexa's respect, there was silence, and the matter was put to rest.

"Your mom decide to come this time?" Raven asks, pulling the bottle closer to her part of the table. She's two cups in and getting talkative with it.

Monty shrugs. "She's thinking about it but she still feels most comfortable in Arkadia. She doesn't like seeing Ice Nation. It makes her tense."

"God, their ambassador is such a dick," Raven says, leaning back in her chair.

"You've been doing this for literally one day," Clarke says.

"It took me five minutes to know that guy was a dick. I thought you said King Roan was Lexa's friend."

"Knowing him, sending someone annoying is probably his idea of a joke," Clarke says. "And I wouldn't say friend, but they have an understanding."

"That's basically the same as friend with Lexa," Raven says, but without real animus. She says it like they're talking about any one of their friends, someone about their age. 

"Where's Jasper?" Octavia asks.

Monty scans for a bit, then points so they can follow his finger to Jasper, who is awkwardly following one of the girls who work the mead stand. The girl mostly ignores him, but occasionally pushes trays of empty glasses and bottles into his waiting hands and points him at the stand to help her clean up. "He keeps trying to get brewing tips from her." Monty hooks his fingers around "tips" and half-rolls his eyes, but with affection.

Octavia looks to Clarke. "Where's Lexa?" 

"Busy," Clarke says. "But pleased you're all here." She expects skepticism from Octavia; at best, disinterest. But Octavia makes a considering face while Lincoln listens with half an ear so he can peoplewatch.

"She should come sit with us next time. If heda can do that without it being weird, I guess," Octavia says.

Clarke really, desperately needs to get the whole story of their mission to destroy Alie out of Octavia. She suspects it'll fill in certain gaps in Lexa's version, as well as complement Raven's abbreviated and explosion-heavy retelling. For now, she has fragments she's piecing together, as well as the mythological version spreading amongs the Grounders as it's told and re-told, passed along from those who accompanied Lexa and amplified by awe and religious fervor.

The stories all leave out the loss of the flame, though. Clarke has gathered there were very few people who actually saw Lexa lose the chip, and so the secret of succession and the unquestioned moral authority of her chosen status remain intact. For now.

That status also precludes her from sitting around a table on a warm night in Polis, shooting the shit with a group of friends. Clarke looks at them, laughing at each other, teasing, drinking. Maybe Lexa had this, in a way, with the Nightbloods who came up with her. Clarke can hope. There's room for hope now, so much of it, almost limitless. Big hopes, not just small ones. 

But Lexa deserves small hopes too, and Clarke finds herself suddenly needing to be physically close to Lexa. "I think I'm done for the night," she says.

Octavia smirks at her and Raven straight-up crumples a cloth rag on the table so she can throw it at Clarke. 

"One more?" Monty asks. "At least stay until Jasper gets totally rejected so we can make fun of him."

"I'm good," Clarke says, nevertheless standing up and snagging the bottle Monty just brought over. 

"Hey!" Raven says, but Clarke just waggles the bottle and walks back to the tower.

Lexa isn't in her room when Clarke finally reaches the top. (Now that Raven is ambassador, elevator speed has shot to the top of her priority list, which Clarke suspects will make her a big hit with the others.) Clarke wanders a bit and eventually finds Lexa in her small private library a few rooms over. 

"I thought you would be with your friends," Lexa says as Clarke opens the door slowly, hoping not to disturb her too much. She has a few small books in her hands and she keeps sorting through them as Clarke joins her by the shelves. 

"I was. We had a good time. I wanted to come see you," Clarke says. She holds up the bottle. "You deserve this too. Today was a good day."

Lexa looks at the bottle with one eyebrow askew. "Were those not for Raven's celebration?"

Clarke inches closer, letting her body brush against Lexa's. She can feel Lexa go still. "If you'd rather read."

The books go on the shelf and Lexa's hand goes into Clarke's. They haven't been together in a while, not since Lexa started her recovery, but Clarke can feel the connection between their bodies tonight. Lexa doesn't let go of her as she leads Clarke back to her room, uncaring if servants or guards catch them holding hands. 

Inside, somewhat to Clarke's disappointment, she lets go and finds two cups, bringing them to the table by the couch. Clarke pulls the stopper and pours out a generous measure of mead for them both, and they raise their glasses together. Clarke is struck that this is their first toast since that initial botched attempt at peace, when they were all so on edge that Gustus was nearly able to turn their paranoia into a war. That Clarke, that Lexa, they never could have predicted what they would become to each other, the things they would come to regret and the things they wouldn't take back no matter what.

"To a long and lasting relationship between Ground and Sky," Lexa says. She tips her cup and drinks deep. 

Clarke does the same, feeling the mead go down cool, but her face flushing warm. The breezes filtering through the curtains feel good on her skin. She puts down her cup, still half-full, and steps into Lexa's space. Her hand closes around Lexa's with gentle pressure, sliding up to grasp her cup by the rim, and she pulls it free so she can set it down with its partner. And then she waits, letting Lexa set the rest of the terms. Clarke knows she feels it too, her eyes dark and fixed on Clarke's mouth. 

Lexa hands start Clarke's waist, settling warmly, before sliding up around her ribs, up her back. Lexa pulls her closer, head tilting, and Clarke meets her with soft longing that grows harder and hotter the longer they kiss. Clarke pushes into Lexa's body, her own hands roaming low and squeezing so their hips are flush. She sighs through her nose as Lexa's tongue slips into her mouth and curls with intent, and starts guiding them towards the bed. 

Lexa stops a few feet away and Clarke is ready to pull back, to slow down or stop, but Lexa kisses her way up Clarke's neck, the corner of her jaw, her ear lobe. She pulls back and looks at Clarke with naked want, but also the depth of their connection, all the trust built over nights confessing inadequacies and fears and sharing dreams and plans. "I love you," Lexa says. She caresses Clarke's face, fingers sliding into Clarke's hair. Her eyes search Clarke's.

"Ai hod yu in," Clarke says, the words coming easily. They've been there a while, only waiting to be said.

Lexa draws her close and kisses her, and Clarke knows that she is as in love as it's possible to be.

*

One of the things that helps Lexa most is fresh air and exercise. Something about getting up her heart rate, feeling her body move and work and strain, heart pumping adrenaline. The physical activity makes her feel alive and the Nightbloods make her feel loved. Clarke isn't sure if Lexa has ever told the Nightbloods that she loves them - she's sure Titus would probably have a conniption fit if he found out. But it's evident that she does in the way that she pays such careful attention to them. Not just to their training, but to them, as people, with their own needs, their own strengths and weaknesses. 

Aden is out for this lesson with a broken arm, received when he scaled a wall for what he claims was an arrow shot from his bow, but which Clarke suspects was to impress Lafay. He sits with his splinted arm in its sling and borderline pouts watching Lexa fight the others one by one.

Clarke sits with him, the two of them laboring over their sketchpads, fingers smudged with charcoal. She fiddles with the way Lexa's hair flies around her shoulders when she spins before taking a break and nudging Aden with her shoulder. He broke his dominant arm and he's made a couple of halting attempts with his left hand, but his work is noticeably more untidy than at their last lesson. "That's not bad," she says.

Aden makes a grumpy sound and sets aside his sketchpad. It's so unusual seeing him in a bad mood that it has the others off-kilter. Clarke has noticed that Lafay is slower to anger now, as if to compensate for missing Aden's levelheadedness.

"How's your arm feeling?" 

Another, slightly less grumpy sound. Aden continues watching Lexa, now circling one of the younger Nightbloods with her staff. 

"How was the lesson this morning?"

Clarke is expecting more of Aden's noncommittal sounds, but he actually seems to contemplate the question. "Better," he says.

"Better?" Clarke asks, not liking the way the word sounds so knowing and adult in his mouth.

"You've noticed she's been...sad, lately?" he asks, eyes uncertain. 

"Yeah, I've noticed," Clarke says. She pats him on his good shoulder, just a brief little rub, even though she wants to pull him close. "But I don't want you to worry about it."

"She's a lot better than she used to be. She hasn't been that...different...for a while, I guess." He still watches Lexa, but with something different in his expression now. He's not desperate to be back out with his mates, but hungry for a relationship that clearly means more to him than he can express.

It's not the first time Clarke has wondered about Aden's family. "I promise you, she really is getting better. A big part of that is being with you guys," Clarke says.

Aden looks down at his knobbly knees, getting even more knobbly as he hits a growth spurt. "Heda told us..."

Clarke waits, watching as Aden picks at his pant leg a few times. 

"She told me I didn't have to be the next commander if I didn't want to be." He seems to shrink in a little, mumbling slightly. "But I've been training to be the next commander as long as I can remember. What happens to me now?"

"What did Lexa say about it?" Clarke asks.

"She said I could go home if I wanted." He hugs his knees to his body. "But Polis is my home. And just because one of us won't get chosen for a long time doesn't mean we don't need to train new leaders." He sounds half-confident, half-questioning of that, like he wants to believe Lexa will grow nice and old, but also knows from years of lessons just how many commanders die young.

"You don't have to make a decision right away," Clarke says. The others are wrapping up their training, so she leaves Aden with one last shoulder-to-shoulder nudge. "You should talk to Lexa about it some more if you want."

Lafay bounds over to them then, sweating and amped up from her fight. She throws herself onto the concrete seat next to Aden. "What did you do while we were working?" she asks.

Aden tries to shuffle his papers around but Lafay reaches over his legs and they start tussling over the drawings. Clarke watches them fondly, more open in their affection with Lexa around to run interference with Titus. Still, they straighten up and stop squabbling as Lexa's shadow falls over them.

Clarke looks up at her, a flush in her cheeks from the sun and the activity. Her overcoat has long been discarded in this heat, leaving her in dark roughspun sleeveless top. Sweat glistens enticingly on the V of skin revealed by the neckline. Clarke has to remind herself to look up at Lexa's face.

"Aden," Lexa says, hands going behind her back. "The healer says you will be well enough by next week to practice one-handed techniques."

"I could start sooner than that," Aden says, perking right up.

"We will listen to the healer," Lexa says sternly, and he settles down again.

"Sha, heda," says Aden, earning him a sympathetic sideways glance from Lafay.

"You did not join us today, Clarke," Lexa says, turning from Aden to her other errant pupil.

Clarke lifts her chin in mock defiance. "I was giving Aden a lesson."

"I learned a lot," he says, quick on the uptake. 

Lexa eyes both their sketchpads, Aden's more interpretive than anything else, and Clarke's still showing her half-finished study of movement. "I see."

"Natblidas," says Titus, appearing at the entrance to the training area. They line up obediently, Lafay in front and Aden carrying up the rear. Titus nods once to Clarke, still seated. "Wanheda."

Clarke tilts her head in an approximation of a nod. "Titus." Nothing else is necessary, and Titus leads the children away without any of his customary searching looks or judgmental frowns.

Lexa takes the newly-empty seat next to Clarke, stretching out her legs and leaning back on her elbows. "What will you do now?"

She means for the rest of the day, but barely a week removed from Raven assuming all ambassadorial duties, Clarke is already restless. She shrugs. "Maybe take a walk, go for a ride."

"Perhaps," Lexa says, not moving or even opening her eyes, "You would like to go for a walk with me?"

Clarke watches her and enjoys how relaxed she looks, basking in the sunshine. She looks connected to the earth, young and vital and so beautiful Clarke wishes she could keep this moment exactly as it is forever. "I'd love to go for a walk with you," Clarke says. "Can we sit here for a while though?"

Lexa responds by sliding her hand to the side until it bumps into Clarke's thigh, then climbs the curve until it rests on top. 

Clarke leans back too, and enjoys the warmth.

*

Their walk has to wait until that evening; Lexa has a meeting that can't wait, so Clarke takes herself off to find her mother. She returns to the healing house, automatically going to the back room from last time. Her mom is there, writing in a notebook at a desk with a small divided tray containing different herbs in each compartment nearby. An extra coat over the back of the chair, a satchel by the desk, her stethoscope hanging from a peg on the wall - they make it feel more and more like this is her mother's office. 

"Hey," Clarke says.

Abby finishes what she's writing, dotting the sentence with her pencil, before looking up. "Hi," she says. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"Lots of free time now," Clarke says, holding her hands out wide.

"Do you want to help me?" Abby asks. "I was just about to do rounds."

"Wow. Rounds. That's very official."

"They already did rounds, they just didn't call it that. But-" She stands and picks up a thin, flat board from the desk with a sheaf of paper bound to it. "I've started to introduce some record keeping methods. Patient charts, intake surveys to help new healers rule out some of the basics."

Clarke takes the makeshift clipboard, glancing over the records there. They're a pared-down version of the charts she remembers from the Ark infirmary, but they're more comprehensive than the oral method the healers here use. "This looks great," she says.

She follows her mom out into the main hall, where Abby begins examining patients, talking to others. There's no chaperone and most of the patients seem to trust Abby, readily describing their symptoms, giving her progress updates. Clarke takes notes for her mom like she's shadowing her for career day again.

After about an hour they go back to the office and Abby looks over Clarke's notes, making approving noises as she flips through. 

Clarke sits on a nearby stool, remembering how she would wait for her mom to say it was okay to leave so she could go home and meet her dad when his shift ended. 

"You still remember the important stuff," Abby says, setting aside the clipboard. She looks at Clarke with her Mom Look. "You could apprentice with me again. Complete your medical training."

"I thought about it," Clarke admits. 

"And?" Abby prompts her eagerly. 

Clarke shrugs a little. "It's...I'd like to at least, you know, re-certify on the basics, I guess. But I'm not sure about becoming a doctor."

Abby does her best to conceal her disappointment, Clarke can tell, and she appreciates that her mom forces an understanding smile on her face. "Well, that's okay. You have time to think about it."

"Yeah," Clarke says. Her mom clearly has her preferences, but in a way it's nice to be pressured to think about her long-term future by someone who clearly cares about her. If that's her new normal, then she's happy to endure it.

*

Kane is still in Polis, taking the time to strengthen his ties with Grounder leaders and to make sure Sky People are seen around the city engaging in peaceful commerce. 

Clarke finds him in the marketplace, about to get fleeced by a vendor who wants his boots for a couple of trinkets he's passing off as "genuine Trikru artifacts."

"Nope," Clarke says, stepping between Kane and the vendor, whose eyes go wide as he recognizes her.

"Wanheda," he begins, followed by some stuttering.

"I need to speak with you," Clarke says to Kane, and begins walking away, giving him no choice but to offer the vendor a quick apology and to follow along.

"What's wrong?" Kane asks, catching up.

"What's wrong is you were about to give away the clothes on your back for some really bad wood etchings," Clarke says.

"It's a cultural exchange, Clarke," Kane says brightly. "We have to show them we're willing to learn about them."

"You were learning about getting conned," Clarke says. "I'm pretty sure we had that back on the Ark."

He doesn't seem all that deflated by the idea. Clarke is actually glad Kane has to remain chancellor back in Arkadia; his relentless fascination with Grounder culture would probably drive Lexa slightly twitchy. Never mind Lexa - Clarke might actually trade her own boots just to see Kane pestering Titus for a day about Grounder history.

Nevertheless Kane follows her into the tower and the elevator to the top floor. The door closes and the chains begin their clanking grind.

"Where are you headed now?" Kane asks. 

"Just needed a few things from my room," she says.

"Still working on what comes next, huh."

Clarke can hear the clear lead-in in his tone. "Why, you have something for me?"

He folds his arms. "You know, the farm survey group really needs a liaison. Someone who all the other clans know and respect-"

"You might need someone else for the respect," Clarke says, thinking of a few of the less friendly ambassadors. 

"But they know you," Kane says. "And you have the most experience with different Grounder cultures." He leans back against the elevator railing. "Clarke, I know Arkadia isn't your favorite place to be and I understand why. I think this is something you can do that lets you help our people but doesn't tie you down if you don't want to be."

Clarke's feelings about Arkadia are less complicated than she suspects Kane thinks they are, but she appreciates the effort he's making all the same. "I'll think about it," she says.

"That's all I can ask," says Kane. He smiles, and it's not quite her chancellor and not quite someone who might feel like a father figure. At the very least it comes from a place of respect. 

They step off on Clarke's floor together. 

"Well," says Kane. "I suppose I'll check in with Raven. Make sure she's not teaching the Grounders how to blow things up."

"I think you're too late," Clarke says, not entirely joking.

Kane's face turns slightly worried. "I see. Think about it, Clarke. Let me know in a few days." He hurries off towards Raven's lab, no doubt bracing himself for the chaos he'll find.

*

Clarke flops into a chair in her room, glad to have a moment to herself. Everyone seems to be waiting on her next move, waiting to hear her next thoughts and ideas. It's gratifying and exhausting. No one is thrusting a leadership role on her anymore, but the idea is still lurking in the back of everyone's mind and she doesn't know if she wants to jump back into that arena, at least not so soon. 

She must have dozed off a bit, because the knock on her door startles her. "Come in," she says groggily, pushing herself upright, finger-coming her hair out of her face. Her mouth tastes a little bit stale; maybe she slept harder than she thought.

Lexa comes in, looking a lot less sweaty than she had that morning. She's not buttoned up in what Clarke thinks of as her working commander clothes, but has on a black wraparound shirt that leaves her arms bare and has a hint of collar about the neckline, making her look vaguely martial but still cool enough for this heat. "Did I wake you?" she asks.

Clarke tries to deny it while rubbing her eyes, but an enormous yawn comes out instead.

Lexa watches her fondly. "Would you like to take a walk with me now?"

"Sure, give me a minute," Clarke says, still a bit sleepy. Lexa comes over to stand in front of her and holds out both her hands so Clarke can pull herself up. When she's on her feet she lets her body sway close so she can give Lexa a sweet little peck on the corner of her mouth. She doesn't let go of Lexa's hands, but instead lets her forehead dip until it can rest on Lexa's shoulder. 

"Clarke, if you would rather nap a little longer, we can always go tomorrow."

"No, no," Clarke murmurs. "I want to. I just didn't expect to fall asleep and it's messing with my body." Still she doesn't move, enjoying a borderline snuggle which, to be frank, Lexa seems to be enjoying just as much.

"I would take a nap with you if I could," Lexa says, and Clarke knows she means it. Now that Lexa isn't so tired all the time, short naps are energizing for her again and they've discovered the joy of stealing half-hours here and there in order to curl up together in Lexa's cool, dark room. 

"Okay, I'm awake for real," Clarke says. She straightens up, shakes her head out, dots another little kiss on Lexa's cheek for good measure, then helps Lexa pull on her light summer coat and shoulder guard.

They hold hands as they walk out and for the trip to the ground floor, though Lexa drops hers and stands a little apart as they get off the elevator. It's one thing for them to be in a known relationship; it's another for Lexa to look anything less than official in public. Clarke knows her reputation is changing too, and part of her wants to preserve her authority and image for the future. Another part of her wants to walk hand-in-hand with Lexa wherever they want, to be sickeningly sweet like any other young couple sharing new I-love-yous and coy smiles that make the rest of the world drop away. The two guards falling into step with them as they emerge from the tower are a slightly downer reminder that they're not just any other young couple, and that that will probably never change.

"Let's try the woods," Clarke says, wanting to be at the fringes of the city for a while instead of in the thick of it.

But Lexa guides her towards one of the quieter neighborhoods, a short ways off the main market. 

"Where are we going?" Clarke asks.

"There is something here I must take care of first," Lexa says, rather mysteriously.

Clarke plays along, walking with Lexa, guards following at a discreet distance, until they come to a two-storey building with a clear sightline to the tower. Lexa enters without hesitation, pushing open the main door without knocking.

On the inside Clarke can see that the building is empty, but someone has been through recently by how clean it is. Lexa leads them through the front room, through a door and up a set of stairs to the second floor. There's a short hallway, and she pulls aside a large sliding door to reveal a mid-size rectangular room with high ceilings and big windows in the two exterior walls that make up the corner of the building. One of the windows frames the lower half of the tower; the other one looks out over the rest of the neighborhood, most of the other houses standing one storey shorter.

The room is mostly empty except for a large desk by one of the windows. And by the other window, an empty easel. 

Clarke walks to the desk, brushing her fingers over the stacks of paper there, the charcoal sticks carefully arranged in a round tin. She turns around, looking at Lexa standing by herself in the open doorway. "What is this?" she asks, her head craning to look up at the open skylight in the ceiling.

"It's yours," Lexa says rather cautiously, seeming to be waiting on Clarke's reaction.

"Mine? For what?"

"For whatever you want. But I thought..." Lexa looks at the desk and the easel and then somewhere around Clarke's feet. "I thought perhaps you would like a place to draw. There are a few artists in this part of the city. And the market is close if you need to get more supplies."

"Lexa," Clarke says to get her attention, to pull her gaze up and look her firmly in the eye. "I love it."

Lexa's smile is so big and real, pulling Clarke to her, connecting them with that old click of instant familiarity. Clarke takes three big steps and throws herself on Lexa in a hug. She laughs as Lexa squeezes her tight and leans back just enough to pull Clarke on her tiptoes. When both her feet are on the ground she grabs Lexa's face with her hands and plants a kiss on her. Not just to say thank you, but to reaffirm what Lexa means to her and how proud of her she is for the hard work it's taken to get here. 

Lexa responds enthusiastically, pushing back against Clarke until she has to take a step, then another. The small of her back hits the edge of the table, jarring their bodies together in an extremely pleasant way. She pulls Lexa's shirt out of its tuck, hands sliding underneath to find smooth skin, nails digging in lightly on either side of her spine. Lexa is just reaching down to lift Clarke onto the tabletop when there's a stiff cough around the edge of the doorway. 

"Heda," says one of the guards. "You are needed back at the tower."

Lexa sighs minutely against Clarke's mouth, their foreheads resting together for a moment as they both try to calm down. “Stay here if you like. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Count on it,” Clarke murmurs, darting in for one last kiss. Lexa leaves her sitting on the desk, disheveled and about as happy as she’s ever been. 

*

Lexa has to eat dinner with some of the other ambassadors in a business meeting, so Clarke is already in bed when Lexa slips into the room. She makes no pretense now about sleeping in her own room and is only waiting for Raven to eventually find out and complain that if Clarke isn’t even using the room, then Raven should definitely be the one to get it. 

Clarke sets aside the book she was reading by candlelight and gets up to help Lexa slip out of her shoulder guard, then her gauntlets and boots and coat. She perches on the edge of the bed and lets Clarke help her start taking out her braids, until her hair is loose and wavy over her shoulders. Clarke pulls it aside to plant a very gentle kiss at the base of Lexa’s neck, just under her freshly-healed excision wound and right above the knot of the cord that carries the chip strung around her neck. 

"How did it go?" Clarke asks.

"Productive, in spite of ourselves," Lexa says. She sounds tired but amused, always a good sign. She stands up one more time in her bare feet and disappears into the bathroom. Clarke hears some splashing, then she comes back in her nightgown, looking soft and inviting. 

"I can put out the light," Clarke says as they climb into bed on their respective sides. Lexa likes to sleep on the side closer to the door. Clarke knows she'll never entirely lose her paranoia about intruders or danger so if Lexa feels better closer to the door then Clarke is happy to let her sleep there. 

"No, read if you like," Lexa says. She scoots closer to the middle, arm going across Clarke's thighs as she sits up against the headboard, forehead lightly nudging at Clarke's side. Clarke sometimes wishes she could take a picture of Lexa like this, sleepy and cuddly, unconcerned with anything except finding the most comfortable way to arrange her body against Clarke's. But she also likes that this moment only exists for the two of them.

Clarke starts reading again once Lexa has picked a position and for a few minutes the only sound the is occasional slide of paper as she carefully turns a page. Clarke treats of all Lexa's books with the utmost care, knowing how rare they are and how much Lexa values them.

"Was everything in the studio to your liking?" Lexa murmurs with her eyes closed.

Clarke rests the book's spine on her legs so she can use her free hand to stroke Lexa's back. "It's perfect. I'm going to look for colors to make paint tomorrow."

"I can send a servant."

"No, I want to do it."

Lexa hums her assent. She's very nearly out; Clarke knows her sleepy sounds. 

"Thank you," Clarke whispers.

"Do what you love," Lexa says, her voice papery thin she's so close to the verge of unconsciousness. 

Clarke lets her touch down Lexa's back slow down. She can feel it when Lexa's breathing evens out and she returns her focus to the book, something she pulled at random from the library. The regular sound of the pages turning blends with Lexa's deep, calming rhythm, and before Clarke knows it her eyes are drooping. The book goes on the nightstand, the candle gets blown out, and Clarke's body slides down under the sheet, where Lexa automatically adjusts without waking up so that they stay as close as possible. 

She sleeps well and her dreams are pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with this story for so long. I don't usually post WIPs and this might be one of the rare ones that I was compelled to see through to the end. Clarke and Lexa affected me like no other story and I'm not done with them, not by a long shot. I hope that this attempt to explore the potential s3 once had has been helpful for everyone who read it, or at least entertaining. All your lovely comments did not go unnoticed and were often the highlight of my day after posting. 
> 
> If you have any questions or just want to discuss this story (and the ones I have planned) more in depth, stop by my tumblr at [badlance. ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/badlance)


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